Honestly, Potter
by Milkbottle
Summary: Eleanor Montgomery is in need of a flatmate because Central London doesn't come cheap. James Potter is a colossal idiot with a compromised home and a wandhappy mob. According to Molly Weasley, it all comes down to a very simple solution. (But then again, Molly Weasley is also a thoughtless twit.) (James II/OC)
1. Chapter 1

_18 October, 2024—Eleanor_

My, that stench was something fierce.

I raised a hand to pinch my nose as I stepped into the shithole of a place I was to call my new home, involuntarily wincing as the old wood croaked an ominous little greeting under my mud-splattered boots. With an unimpressed sigh, I cast a scrutinizing gaze across the ramshackle interiors—a stuffed armchair with some very suspicious looking stains and a couple of cushions that would probably cough up a storm if I were to so much as poke them with a finger, a floor lamp with broken lampshade, a coffee table with no table top, a slanting bookcase and a hideous portrait of some old man holding a bowl of fruit on the far end of the room. All in all, it was a displeasing sight to behold, even if you deliberately ignored that eye-catching spread of perhaps the ugliest wallpaper you'd ever seen…

Welp, someone had forgotten to call in the cleaners before handing the keys over.

I spied a little telephone attached by the lamp and quickly made my way over, pulling out a slip of paper from my back pocket as I placed the receiver against my ears. With an observing glance at the familiar, neat little scrawl, I carefully dialed in the offered number and leaned back against the wall, waiting for the person on the other end to pick up their phone and respond.

Five seconds passed with no answer. I regarded the floor lamp with wary curiosity and then flipped its switch on, staring as the bulb flickered distrustfully before bathing the room with a wash of warm yellow light. Surprised, I found myself unable to display much of a reaction to the voice suddenly hooting its way into my ear.

"Who is this? Hello?"

"Well, the lamp works," I finally said with a sigh. "I suppose that's good news?"

"Eleanor!" the voice squeaked. There was a bit of noise, a thump and a clutter, before the voice resumed once again. "Eleanor!"

"God, don't call me that," I said with a reflexive grimace. "Doesn't suit me one bit, that awful name. I go by Lee; you know that, Aunt Sally."

"Of course, of course," she said with a rather suspicious lack of due repentance, making me roll my eyes with familial exasperation. "I assume you're calling from your new place—how does it look, then?"

I frowned, debating on how to respond, before figuring that honesty wouldn't be all that bad.

"Well, it's a bit of a cesspool," I said.

"Er," Aunt Sally faltered. "What?"

"It's dark, depressing and filthy, and I have never seen a sorrier looking place," I explained furthermore.

"Well." There was a small pause. "That's not good."

"That about sums it up, yes." My lips quirked into an amused smile. "The cleaners forget to call in the rain check?"

"Oh, darling," Aunt Sally bemoaned, making me wonder if honesty had been the right way to go after all. "I'm so sorry, the agent said the place was great for your minimal budget, I was sure it would turn out okay—"

"Aw, Aunt Sally," I interrupted before she got right into her apologising—lovely lady that she was, she had a tough time functioning as a single woman raising a couple of hellions for little children and she hardly needed any more stress rubbing up against those harried nerves. "Don't be silly, the location's great, smack in the middle of London and everything, and I'm pretty sure I can whip it into shape without much of a problem… I'm just surprised it's still standing and all, that's all."

"If you're sure," she sounded doubtful, which made me grin. "I can come help, if you like—it's the least I could do, considering I was the one who suggested the guy—"

"Absolutely not, you're all the way in Bath," I cut in immediately, not wanting to inconvenience her any further. "You think Mum'll be able to take care of the hellions on her own? I've got a few friends I can bully into helping me out, don't worry."

"You'll be coming over for Halloween, yes?" Aunt Sally asked. "The kids want to go trick-or-treating again, and they're all but itching for a day with their lovely Sissy Lee."

My face softened into an affectionate grin. "It'll be hard to get rid of me," I said. "I just called to check in, give you a bit of an update and all. I've got to go now, though. I love you, Aunt Sally. Do give them all a little kiss from me."

"Yes, definitely," she said in response. "I'm sorry, again, about the place—"

"Oh, tosh," I waved off the apology. "You take care, okay?"

"Love you, darling," she said, sounding like she was smiling, before hanging up with a neat little 'click'.

I put the receiver away and turned around, looking about to give the room a slight glare. "So," I exhaled heavily. "What are we going to do about you then?"

The bulb sputtered before fusing out, returning the room to its usual state of death and dismay. I rolled my eyes. "Knew it was too good to last."

And then I Disapparated with a small 'pop'.

* * *

"It's a damn hovel," I said in greeting as the pretty redhead dropped her glass with a shocked squeak. Thankfully, the floor had a carpet.

"You should clean that," I pointed as the pumpkin juice began to sink into the lovely blue spread, a painful reminder of that armchair lying patiently in wait for me back in the hovel previously mentioned. I automatically frowned.

With an annoyed glare, Molly Weasley pulled out her wand from the sleeve of her robe and gave it an aggressive wave. Most of it vanished but a small spot remained.

"Too aggressive," I gave her a mocking smile. "It's a gentle spell, love."

"I'll show you gentle spells," Molly said as she began to lift her wand, making me dive behind the sofa as she hurled an old fashioned Jelly-Legs directly where my feet used to be.

"Mol!" I squawked as I reached into my boot to pull out my own wand. "Undeserved!"

"Oh, I'll show you 'undeserved'," she sniped, apparently in too much of a tiff to make a lick of sense as she waved her wand at the carpet once again. The spot disappeared without ado. I shot her a look as I pulled myself to my feet before collapsing onto the sofa I had been hiding behind. There was a beat of silence. "Long day at St. Mungo's, then?"

"Merlin, don't even mention that blasted place." Her lips pulled down to form a little scowl as she picked up the glass and made her way into the kitchen on the side. "Bleeding eighteen years old and I'm already working the nine-to-five—why did I think it was a good idea, again?"

"Technically, it's not quite a job yet," I felt the need to mention. "You're still in training."

"And I'm going to stay in training for a while now, aren't I?" she gave me a lethal glare. I was unconcerned. "The Supervising Healer is a goddamn ass, he is—how am I going to survive a nine-to-five with him to look forward to for every single day for the next two years? He'll feed me a Draught of Living Death and throw me into the morgue and the world would be none the wiser, I'm telling you."

"Aw, come on," I gave her a skeptical raise of an eyebrow as she set the kettle to boil and opened an overhead cupboard to pull out a jar of loose tea. "It's that guy Samuels, isn't he? About five years our senior… a fellow Ravenclaw? I don't quite recall him being that bad…"

"That's because he was a bloody Sixth Year when we were transfiguring matchsticks into needles and we hardly interacted with the _Fourth Years_ , let alone sleep-deprived Prefects stuck in a rut for their bloody NEWTs, now _really_. Do make sense, _Eleanor_ , your Ravenclaw is slipping."

"Don't call me that, you git," I sank my head into a soft cushion and brushed back my hair. "Is the tea ready yet?"

"Patience!" Molly said, clinking around in the kitchen a bit more before emerging with a steaming mug in both hands. "Say, you were saying something in the beginning, weren't you? I'm assuming you finally got around to checking out that flat your Aunt had been talking about, then?"

"Ech," I took a small sip of my tea. Mm. Ginger. "I did, yes. And the London back alleys are probably a whole lot cleaner than 7B, Dogwood Ave, as far as I'm concerned. You and Kurt are helping me sterilise it."

"And just why do you think I would do that?" Molly asked me with a quirk of her eyebrows.

"Because the plan when we graduated was for us to find a place together and you kind of left me high and dry when Kurt came knocking with a flat in hand, is all."

"Ouch, mate," she sat back into the cushions, looking a bit cowed. "Fair enough."

I felt my lips pull into a satisfied smile, my mind summoning an image of the aforementioned Kurt Donovan as I took another sip of my lovely tea. Blonde hair and pale blue eyes fixed onto a face that belonged in the pages of Witch Weekly, Kurt Donovan had been a fellow Ravenclaw in the Year above—the talented would-be Herbologist had fallen for my best friend the very moment she'd first approached him for help in the subject… and honestly didn't show any signs of snapping out of it any time soon. In fact, the only reason I wasn't all that affected by the whole ditch-the-flatmate deal was because Mol was just as equally head over heels for the man and the only way those two would end up was married or dead, god forbid it was anywhere close to the latter.

(Well hey; if she was going to abandon me for anybody, it might as well be for the man she unreservedly loved.)

I sipped some more. The only downside now was the fact that I would need to find another flatmate to help foot the bills. Central London didn't come cheap, after all.

"Say," I said after enough time had passed. The flatshare business hadn't bothered me, yes, but guilting her was a hell of a lot of fun anyway. "When's the boyfriend headed home? He's apprenticing under Sprout, isn't he? How's he been?"

"Ask him when he shows up," Molly said with relief, her brown eyes clearing of shame and falling back into their usual gleam. "He'll be home in about an hour. He's been missing you a bit, I think."

"Aw," my lips spread into a pleased smile. "The sweetheart."

"Yes, yes, he's a doll," she waved a dismissive hand. "Tell me about the flat. Dogwood Ave, you say? It's a good locality."

"Course," I finished up my tea and set the mug on the floor. "But the place is a dump, I swear to god. It's obviously not been in use for a while. I don't know the story behind it, but I'm assuming they were looking to wash their hands off it as soon as they could—it's the only way I could get it so cheap."

"Hm," she pursed her lips in thought. "It shouldn't be that hard to beat it into shape. There are a few books on household charms scattered around the flat and we can always look for a Refurbisher—how many rooms?"

"Three," I grinned. "One for me, one for the would-be flatmate, and one for a neat little study. It's going to be great once we're done."

"Is it wise to do your work smack in the middle of Muggle London, though?" she began to pull her hair back into a messy bun, her eyes filling with concern. "What with the Statute of Secrecy and all…"

"Eh," I shrugged. Mind speculating, I cast a glance across the length of the room. The fireplace was warm and alive with a nice, crackling fire and Mol had strung up a beautiful arrangement of fairy lights on the opposite end of the living room—they were the only two sources of light in the room, in fact, which culminated to give the atmosphere a soft, soothing feel. A pile of freshly laundered clothes sat on the armchair by the fire. Mol's words floated back into the forefront of my mind, making me realise that I had yet to offer up a reply. "I'll put up a few wards, I suppose," I said, squirming a bit to make myself a little more comfortable. "I know what I'm doing. I did all my research before deciding to go ahead with it, you know."

"Tosh," she poked an elbow into my gut. I groaned. "Just make sure the would-be flatmate's fine with your double life before coming to an agreement—we don't want you getting arrested because their hair suddenly fell off their scalp because of some wayward Runic array or whatever."

"Excuse me, I'm a bit more careful with my Runic arrays than that," I was inwardly amused at the image thus conjured. "Also, I'm not going to open my home to any random idiot, honestly—at the very least, they should be able to understand the consequences accompanying an agreement with me."

"Do you want me to ask around?" Molly asked me, squiggling around to lay her head down on my lap. I felt a bit loved. "The other trainees might be in need of a place, or maybe their friends. Perhaps even someone in the family, Merlin knows."

"Mm," I nodded, feeling a rush of affection for my best friend of more than eight years. "Thanks, love. I owe you one."

"Please," she shook her head. "I'm not even going to address that outrageous statement. Now. We'll go check out the place again tomorrow, okay? I'm sure we can have it habitable by the end of the week."

"Sounds great," I agreed, leaning my head back and closing my eyes. There was a moment of comfortable silence.

Then my tummy emitted an aggressive little growl.

I cracked a lid open. Molly was looking up at me with amused exasperation. I grinned, unashamed. "You hungry?"

She rolled her eyes.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Hello.

So this one's going to be a bit slow-building, so don't be mad that things aren't going as quickly as you want them to. I want to explore character with these lovelies, and dialogue so there's going to be a lot of talking.

Also the updates are not going to be regular, so I'll be grateful if you guys can be patient. That being said, I really hope you liked it. I think I'm much happier with how it's going as far as writing goes and I would like it if you told me what you thought. Constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated. Thank you for taking the time to read. :)

Love,

R.


	2. Chapter 2

_24 October, 2024—James_

James Potter peeked through his hair and winced.

She was still glaring at him. Her fists were clenched, blue eyes reproaching, and her features were arranged into a ferocious scowl. He resisted the urge to cower—after all, he was a world-class Quidditch player, and world-class Quidditch players did not cower. It didn't matter how intimidating Roxanne Weasley's capabilities were when it came to waving a wand. It didn't even matter how intimidating Roxanne Weasley's capabilities were when it came to throwing a punch.

"Tell me, James," she said through gritted teeth, and all his talk went out the window. He brought his hands to his face and hid. "You remember that talk we had last night, don't you?"

James debated.

"Or were you so damn _under the influence_ that every single promise you made was conveniently tossed off a bloody cliff, you great dimwit?"

The blatant accusation made his insides twinge. His mouth formed into a grimace and he raised a hand to ruffle his messy black hair. "Roxy…"

His cousin—no, his _agent's_ eyes narrowed to slits. Damn it. Should've kept his mouth shut. "I don't want to _hear_ it, James!" she threw up her hands and he scuttled back to avoid the swing. "How could you be so _stupid?_ Do you even _realize_ how badly you fucked this up? Now I know you're hungover and all—" and in pettiness reminiscent of a girl much younger than the twenty-one year old he was currently facing, her voice pointedly peaked in tone. The sting in his head made him cringe. "But I don't suppose you happened to find the time in your _fuck-all_ life to maybe cast a glance at today's headline?"

The sheer antagonism in that last sentence made him pause. Problematic headliners weren't that out of the ordinary for someone of his background and professional pursuits. He'd had all sorts of things written about him in that gossip rag of a newspaper, especially with his… well, his 'way with women', per say (not that it was any of their damn business what he did—or _who_ he did—in his down time); and Roxanne had torn into him many times about his lack of discretion (usually falling on deaf ears), but this sounded… kinda… bad…

James's breath slowed to a stop. He whipped around in search for the morning Prophet and saw it spread innocently across the kitchen counter, its front page practically screaming with text and shocking image. He shot across the room to get a closer look. A cold feeling began to creep into his chest. It proceeded to form into a full-blown storm.

He opened his mouth and tried to say something, but the only thing that left it was a small, timid "mother of Merlin."

"Merlin's mum's not going to help you this time, Potter," Roxanne bit out, her anger yet to dissipate. "This is a bit bigger than your usual idiocies."

He hardly heard her through the thunder of emotions currently resonating in his reddening ears as he read the article as fast as he could. Then his heart almost stopped. " _H-Hogwarts_ s-student—?"

The silence that followed stretched longer than a decade.

And then finally, Roxanne produced a bewildered sound. "Wait— you didn't know?"

"Of course I didn't!" He could be stupid sometimes, but he wasn't a complete idiot! He'd had sex with a— he read it again. This was a catastrophe.

" _ **POTTER GONE WILD—THE NIGHT GETS 'LIVELY' FOR ENGLAND'S  
NEWEST TEAM PLAYER"  
**_

 _The weekend's always a good time for a party, but our beloved James Potter has certainly taken it up a notch with the latest advancement in his Quidditch career. The exciting news of his recruitment into our three-time-world-champion National Team hasn't taken many by surprise considering his capabilities on the Quidditch field, and anyone would understand that a promotion like this deserves a good celebration… it is also common knowledge how much the oldest son of the Man-Who-Conquered likes to party. But perhaps this one time, it went a little too far?_

 _What started out as an innocent round of drinks with a couple of good friends spiraled into shockingly drunken debauchery as this celebrated young man succumbed to his heavy intoxication. While our love for the Potters knows no bounds, we at the Daily Prophet cannot help but remark at how the night degenerated into this immense scandal that will surely stupefy our loyal readers. At around two a.m. this morning, Potter was found in an incredibly compromising position with Hogwarts Sixth Year Natasha Lively in a bathroom stall of the Drunken Imp—both of them were clearly inebriated and in no state to Apparate._

 _Now it is understandable that mistakes can happen to any witch or wizard, but it surely wouldn't be remiss to question whether this is the kind of carelessness we want to see in a representative of our country and nationality? When one is exposed to such a level of public scrutiny, 'mistakes' as such are highly careless and irredeemable. The official response of the International Quidditch Association is yet to be announced, but this reporter is curious to see how this shall unfold in the coming days. James Potter might have scraped through in the past on account of his father's good name, but it would be rather irresponsible—and questionable—of the parties involved to see this getting brushed aside without so much as a slap on the wrist. And the public is undoubtedly entitled to an inquiry when our reputation as a nationality is put on the line in the coming days._

 _James Potter was unavailable for comment, as was Hogwarts student Natasha Lively. The Appleby Arrows (read more on James Potter's relationship with the popular League dominant, page 13) has declined to make an announcement until further notice._

 _For an in-depth analysis into the unstable character of James Sirius Potter, see page 3_

 _For a detailed account of his various scandals and exploits over the years, see page 4_

 _For a critical study of his Quidditch history—(James Potter: Is His Talent Even Worth the Trouble?)—by renowned Quidditch Correspondent Zacharias Smith, see page 12_

James ran through the words for the third, fourth, fifth time, his heart squelching with every scornful undertone. His entire career was flashing before his eyes and he knew he was in for absolute annihilation. He couldn't help but imagine what would happen next—his position in the National Team was obviously going to go bye-bye, see-you-never, _sucker_ , and he was probably going to be tossed out of the Appleby Arrows for being an inexplicable moron. His family was going to hate him—no, they were going to be so _disappointed_ in him, which was really a hundred times worse. Mum would have a conniption, Lils was going to kill him, Al was going to be a complete nightmare, and dad—

Dad…

He cringed, incapable of imagining the guilt he was going to feel when faced with those disappointed green eyes. Dad was usually his biggest supporter when he acted like an immature git—the Potters had always had to deal with public attention because of Dad's infamy, and James's decision to pursue a Quidditch career hadn't done him any favors, which was why Dad always had his back when he did something stupid. He understood what it felt like to be constantly scrutinized for every second of your life, and James usually went to him to let off all the steam. They'd pop open a Firewhiskey, break out the brooms and go for a quick ride across the countryside. Perhaps it was also because James was his firstborn—ever since he was young, he had always been a Daddy's boy.

But this… this time, there was no excuse. This was going to make him _mad_.

In fact, James was going to die in a hole, lonely, depressed and unloved, and nobody was going to remember him as anything but an idiot of a man who brought shame to his father and his family name.

He was damn well screwed.

"James—James— _James Potter,_ you listen to me right now!"

James snapped out of his daze to stare at his fuming agent, who was regarding him with a whole lot of frustration in her blue eyes. As she absorbed the look on his face, her shoulders appeared to sag. With a sigh, she extricated the paper from his clenching grip before bringing him into a comforting hug. "You can be so stupid sometimes."

He buried his face into her shoulder and took in the scent of her sleek black hair. "She's a Hogwarts student."

"She is," Roxanne agreed. "Which is why it's so much worse."

"I didn't know she was still a Hogwarts student."

"I didn't think you did," she assured, tightening her grip around his neck. He frowned.

"Yes, you did."

"Well," she relented, and practically strangled him in apparent apology. "I hoped you didn't."

A thought struck him. He closed his eyes and tried really hard not to scream. "Is she— is she still—"

"She's not underage, James," she told him knowingly, and his entire body deflated with overwhelming relief. "It's why they haven't leveled into you for having relations with a minor. You dodged a bullet over there."

"Dodge a bullet, step into a cannon," he said dryly, unable to help himself—the comfort of the girl's age had him reverting back to his usual coping mechanism in humor, and Roxanne apparently approved with how she was definitely trying to kill him with asphyxiation.

"I'm still very mad at you," she informed him with a muffled voice. James nodded.

"I really tossed up this time."

"In fact, everybody's furious. There's a mob outside your doorstep, you have an overflowing P.O. box of angry mail—a lot of which is filled with threats and jinxes… and the IQA's made a call."

James's heart stopped.

Roxanne burrowed into his chest to muffle her voice even more. He felt the foreboding wrap around his head and simply _twist_. They couldn't—

"James, they're kicking you out of the team."

Mother of Merlin.

He almost collapsed. They were— they were—

"They can't afford the public outcry, James, they're way too close to the qualifying rounds to allow such a scandal. We talked about this, didn't we? That you had to watch yourself for a little while, keep a low profile?"

He couldn't move a muscle. He was barely standing on his own feet. The only thing keeping him from falling was the fact that Roxanne was carrying half of his weight. His heart was breaking into little pieces.

"They sent you a letter. They made it very clear that they felt you were too immature to handle the added pressure."

Someone was trampling all over the pieces now, turning it proper into dust. He felt like he was about to cry.

"James— Jimmy, I agree with their decision."

Wait—what?

James collected every bit of his energy to pull away from her comforting embrace. His eyes looked straight into hers, his disbelief blatant and insecure. Roxanne winced. She agreed with their decision— "C–Come again?"

"James," she bit her lip. She looked like she was trying not to burst into tears, which he found hard to understand. It wasn't her career that was facing total destruction. His face suddenly felt very sweaty. "When we talked, I made sure to emphasize the fact that your transition into the National Team was going to put you under a whole new level of public exposure. England– England knows you, James, because of your wins with the Arrows, because of Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny—but when you became a Chaser for the England team, you became their ambassador, their representative… and people outside don't know you at all. They're not going to look at you and see James Potter, beloved son and Quidditch extraordinaire. They're going to look at you and see someone who can't handle the responsibility of his fame. "

She paused to take a breath to give him a resolute look even as her eyes began to well with tears. She knew exactly how much this was hurting him, but it needed to be said. "The IQA can't afford you because your reputation is now linked to theirs, James, and if you're so careless with your actions, it's going to reflect badly on the entire country! And… well, you're not ready for that, not until you buck up and get your shit together. And it doesn't look like it'll happen soon."

The sweat sure was dripping off his face right now. They'd barely signed the agreement a week ago. He was going to meet his teammates this coming Friday. He hadn't even played a single game—and it was poof. His dreams of playing in that stadium, scoring that winning goal, bringing home _the_ Cup… all gone.

He couldn't even begin to convey how stupid, and disappointed, and betrayed, and hurt he was currently feeling. And even worse, no matter how much he tried to refute what Roxanne was saying, he knew that she was right, every single word. He _was_ careless. He _was_ immature. He _didn't_ deserve to play for his country's team if he couldn't live up to the image of it. He'd just ruined his own life.

Dimly, he heard his cousin emit a long sigh. With unfocused eyes, he watched as she stepped closer and raised her thumbs to wipe his cheeks, which made him laughably realize that he wasn't _sweating_ , he was crying.

"I'm sorry, Jimmy," he heard her say as she wrapped her arms around him once more.

"You don't have to be sorry, Roxy," he said, and his voice sounded dull to his ears. "I brought this all upon myself." A laugh rose up his throat and sputtered out in broken gasps. "I'm a bloody fuck-up."

There was a beat of silence.

"Now, wait a moment," she stopped. With newfound grit, she leant back to give him a befuddling scowl. "You are _not_ a fuck-up, James Potter, don't you _dare_."

"But—" James was dumbfounded. He'd just committed career (and PR) suicide. How did that _not_ make him a fuck-up?

"So you made a mistake!" she said, swinging back to anger in a way that only women could and all James could do was stand and stare. "So you made a hundred mistakes! That doesn't mean you can't figure it out, you twat, and you had better not give up on yourself just because you went and decided to drop the damn Quaffle!" (Personally, James thought she was understating things but he wasn't about to interrupt.) "You think Uncle Harry and Uncle Ginny are just going to let you give up? You think _any_ of us would let you give up? No, we're going to _fix_ this, because we are _Wotters_ , and damn it all if we let something like this affect us!"

She finally stopped, breathing heavily with indignation and rage and a whole lot of love and _whoa_ —too much. It was all too much. As soon as she cottoned onto his overwhelmed mind, she pulled him back into a tight, warm hug.

For a while she didn't say anything else, which he wholeheartedly appreciated. He didn't know how long they stood there but when they did separate, he didn't want to let go.

But there was a mob outside his doorstep and a family to face. (He wasn't going anywhere close to the hate mail, obviously.)

"First things first." Roxanne told him firmly, and he hung onto her every word, because she was Roxanne Weasley and she always knew what to do, and right now, he had no flipping idea how to pull through. "We're going to Grimmauld Place."

He nodded. They were going to murder him.

"Then we talk to Alicia to see how they plan to handle your contract."

He nodded again. Coach Spinnet was going to murder him, but hopefully, she'd still have him.

"After that we're going to sit down with Janet and figure out how you're going to address the article."

Another nod. Janet Notting was his publicist and press correspondent. She was also going to murder him; he was making it very difficult for her to do her job.

There was a small pause.

"And James," she finally said, making his eyebrows furrow in expectation. "We've got to find you another place to live—at least for a little while. This apartment is too risky; especially considering the outcry… people aren't going to take kindly to the fact that you up and had sex with a student in front of the entire world, Jimmy, no matter that you didn't know. Until we can smooth it all over, you need someplace safe to stay."

James bit back the protest. He didn't want to move. This was the place he'd bought with his very first paycheck, and it was warm, and lived in, with comfort, and memories, and to leave this place meant to leave a part of him behind… but Roxy was right, and it would be unwise to argue with her, especially with how badly he'd messed up this time.

So he bit his lip and nodded and tried not to fall apart all over again, because he might not be a world-class Quidditch player anymore, but he was still James Potter and James Potter did not act like a waffling fool any more than he could afford to.

* * *

 _24 October, 2024—Eleanor_

The paint wasn't spreading right.

I grumbled and dipped the brush into the can again before pulling it out with about twice the usual amount, which was a lot. With a careful swipe, I tried to even out the thickness but only managed to make it even worse, which was an achievement in itself.

This wasn't _right_. And I'd done it all properly too! Followed the instructions to the letter, I did, but the results I was producing came nowhere close to that 'smooth, lustrous moonlit sheen' that clerk had been trying to sell when I'd purchased the paint from the store this morning.

I did not like it when things didn't work for me. Why, my entire choice of career was based on the ability to figure out how to make things work for me, and if I couldn't figure out a damnable spread of paint, I was probably going to crash and burn on the professional front.

With a small sigh, I lay down the brush and gave the apartment a quick once-over. It had been a week since I'd signed the agreement and the cesspool had been rendered unrecognizable, which I considered a smashing success. Gone was the ugly wallpaper and the deplorable furniture, and gone was that horrific smell—I'd called in a Refurbisher to help out with the basic household fixer-upping, and Mol and I had done the rest of the work. Now, the walls were ivory and the floors a warm hardwood, the lighting was gentle and the room looked soft and welcoming. I'd also managed to create the perfect little nook by the window, complete with these lovely floor cushions and a little bookcase. Doing this bit had been my favorite part.

The stuff for the bedrooms and the kitchen would be coming in the next day—I'd already gone ahead with equipping the other bedroom with a few essentials, but the flatmate would be free to do it up as they pleased.

I loved magic. If I wasn't a witch, it would have probably taken me months to whip this place into anything resembling a habitable space, but I _was_ a witch, which made things a great deal simpler. All that Refurbisher had to do was wave a wand and poof! The entire place was fumigated! The wallpaper had been unpeeled and incinerated! He'd managed to turn it into a decent DIY home within the span of three days, and all it took was all my savings! It was amazing!

I made a note in my head to visit Mum and Aunt Sally sometime soon. I was going to have to borrow a bit of money (I would pay them back, don't look so disapproving), not to mention I really missed their home cooking. Maybe I'd ask them to teach me a few things, too. Yes, that would be good.

With a sigh, I reached for my wand. While it was disheartening to give up the painting as a lost cause, I took comfort in the fact that I was going to be a researcher, not an artist, and that it was okay for me to struggle with these little things. With a small tap against the can, I watched as the paint rose and spread itself onto the wall in a nice, uniform layer and fell back onto the floor with an accomplished smile.

Things were looking good.

Now if only I could find someone who'd want to live with me and help me pay for it all.

"Lee? Lee, you in?"

I lifted my head. "Molly?" And sure enough, in through the front door walked the redhead and she looked… worried? I furrowed my brows. "Mol, what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at St. Mungo's?"

Molly plopped down onto the cushion next to me before looking at me with the most incomprehensible expression. "My cousin's a high-profile idiot."

What?

"What?" I said, and now I was really confused. What did her cousin's idiocy have to do with her blowing off the morning shift at her shmancy trainee gig at St. Mungo's? Molly didn't blow off any shifts; she was anal as they came about these pointless technicalities. She threw a hissy fit if people so much as infinitesimally deviated from their prescribed schedules and timetables.

Which cousin was she talking about, anyway? She had like a hundred of them. She wasn't explaining herself well enough. This was worse than I thought.

"Have you read today's newspaper?" she changed the subject abruptly, which was very out of character for her. I shook my head and gave her a weird look, now worried for her sanity. "No, Mol," I said with a you-should-know-this, I-haven't exactly-kept-my-thoughts-private kind of air. "I'm not subscribed to the Daily Prophet, you know that."

"Well," she said with that same incomprehensible look that made me want to run out the window. "Have a look." And with that, she pulled that rag out of nowhere and slapped it unceremoniously onto my unfortunate stomach.

"Ow," I deadpanned, giving her a poke in the ribs. "This is strange, you know—I haven't seen you this worked up for a long time. How bad can it really be, whatever it is—? Oh."

That headline was not very nice. The poor shmuck.

"What should I do?" she cried out very suddenly and I peeked out of the paper to give her a befuddled frown. "I mean, it's Jimmy, it is, and he might not have had a lot of time for me considering he's two years older than me _and_ he was in a different house and what not, but it's Jimmy and I feel really bad for him and I want to be there for him but I don't know if I have the _right_ , you know? It's really stressing me out. Tell me what to do!"

"Well for starters, you could sip on some water and calm the hell down," I told her dryly. Trust Molly to go foot-up mental over these things. "Have you checked in with the family at all? To see if it's even true, I mean?"

Silence.

I rolled my eyes. "You saw the paper at St. Mungo's and freaked out and came straight over here, didn't you?"

Molly covered her face with her fingers. "Yes. I didn't know what to do! He's Jimmy, for crying out loud! He's a thickheaded _moron_!"

"He is," I agreed, though I had no place to do so considering I didn't even know him. "But he's had his fair share of media attention, hasn't he? I don't see why you're freaking out so much about something that isn't exactly… _uncommon,_ you know?"

" _Uncommon?"_ Molly shrieked, and I resisted the urge to plug my ears. "He had sex with a Sixth Year! How is that not something to freak out about?"

A what?

"Wait, really?" I blurted out before snapping back to reread the offending text. My mouth fell open with astonishment. "Whoa, he really fucked up, didn't he?"

"Try ruined his entire career!" she continued to squall, and I had to marvel at the octaves she had managed to reach in her ire—good to see that the infamous Molly Senior had passed on more than just her name to this little dipstick. "If I see him, I'm really going to kill him, I swear—"

"Molly," I interrupted, because if I didn't she was definitely going to descend into a violent Murderous-Molly rampage, and nobody wanted _that_. "I'm going to give you some advice, okay?"

Molly shut up and listened. "Okay."

"Now you're going to drop in on your Uncle Harry's place," (I felt very weird calling the Savior of the Wizarding World 'Uncle Harry' but it's what Molly identified with and I was going to cater to that, obviously.) "Where I'm pretty sure the thousand other members of your family are already gathered and waiting," (and wasn't that an understatement) "And you're going to go there with a cool head and help any way you can, because you're Molly Weasley and that's what you do, alright?"

Molly nodded, looking a little more collected. "Okay."

I settled back onto the floor. "I've got some chocolate milkshake left over from breakfast. It's on the counter."

Molly scampered to her feet after giving me a grateful kiss on the cheek. "Okay." After grabbing the milkshake, she Disapparated with a loud 'pop'.

I gave my apartment (and gosh darn, it felt good to say that) another considering glance. It was time to fix up the study.

* * *

 _24 October, 2024—James_

James felt like running.

Roxy'd Apparated them straight to the Outer Room at Grimmauld Place where people usually Apparated in for privacy's sake, and the pandemonium that had assaulted his ears immediately made him want to go 'fuck that, I'm out of here psychos, can't do this shit, good day!' The only thing stopping him had been Roxy's death grip and his mother's terrifying frown as she stood there by the doorway in evident expectation of their arrival.

"James Potter," Ginny Potter said, her brown eyes glinting something fierce. The image was terrifying and James was unable to hold back a flinch. "Don't you _dare_ Disapparate."

There was a bout of silence. He didn't want to, but he figured he should say something, so he opened his mouth to give his mum a meek little "'lo, Mummy," and to his horror, his voice actually cracked. As if the day couldn't get any worse.

And just like that, the anger began to slip away. "Oh, James," she said, stepping forward and pulling him into a tight, motherly hug that almost made him burst into tears all over again, which would be very unmanly. "You can't keep doing this, Jim-Jam."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Roxy quietly slipping out of the room to join the rest of the family… presumably to give them the bad news about his embarrassing dismissal. The idea that every aunt, uncle and cousin was probably camping out in their living room in order to give him a piece of their minds had him shuddering. Right now, all he wanted was his Mum, and Dad, and Lils, and Al. "Mum?" he muttered, and he felt her squeeze his shoulders in understanding. "Roxy's going to tell them to come back later, honey. They'll leave by the Floo." And he could hear the reproach in her voice for the inquisitive ways of her entire family—she'd known he wouldn't want them around right that moment. He felt a rush of affection for his scary, protective Mum.

He stood there, basking in her warmth for a few precious seconds. "Is Dad around?" he finally asked, not quite wanting to hear what she had to say in response. And then Mum shook her head. "He's paying the Prophet a visit. He'll be back soon, though."

He didn't know whether to feel helpless or relieved. She unwrapped her arms and leant back to give him a searching glance. "Honey…"

"I know, Mum," James interrupted, not wanting to hear it a second time. Roxy's words were still echoing in the back of his mind. _I agree with their decision…_ "I know I messed up."

"That's a bit of an understatement," a crisp voice said, making him look over Mum's shoulder in immediate reaction. Lily Potter stood there in her Hogwarts robes and he realized with a start that she'd probably had to Floo all the way from school after she'd received news of his exploits… which was usually delivered in the Great Hall… with the rest of the students and professors… and to read of her brother's recklessness in front of all these people—well, he wouldn't wish that embarrassment upon anyone... The stormy expression on her face revealed a great deal more than her casual rebuke.

"A Sixth Year, James?" she finally exploded, her red hair fluttering and her brown eyes—his eyes—glinting wild. "A damn Sixth Year? She's in my Potions class! _What were you thinking?"_

He felt mortified at her exclamation. He'd gotten frisky with someone the same age as his own sister. It hadn't even struck him to ask. He needed a nice, long bath.

"Lily," his mother said sharply and he realized that he'd been staring at her with very evident dismay, making him retract his emotions and instead force his face into a blank frown. "That's enough. You think your brother hasn't already exhausted himself thinking of the consequences of his actions? Come on, we're going to take this to the kitchen. I'm sure he hasn't had anything to eat with how the morning's gone, have you?" The last two words were directed at him. He dimly shook his head. He'd woken up to angry Roxy.

Lily sniffed and whirled around, her hair swinging with the abrupt force, before marching out of the Outer Room and straight into the kitchen on the side. Mum sighed, looking resigned, before placing her hand around his back and gently encouraging him to follow after. With a stifled noise, he let him guide her, thankful to see that the rest of his family had already departed—even Roxy. The first thing he noticed about the sunlit little room was a green-eyed Al sitting on the kitchen counter.

His face was inscrutable.

"James…" he finally said, voice low. James ran his fingers through his hair. "Hey, Al."

"The hell did you think getting with a kid was a good idea, mate?"

And then felt his temper spark—strange, that sweet, mild-mannered Albus would be the one to incite such a reaction when all he'd been able to give to others was shame and timidity. "I didn't _know_ she was a Sixth Year, damn it! She came on to me in a bar! You think I was in any state to actually wonder how old the girl was before we got busy? There was no way I could know!"

"James," his mother said quietly, and he breathed deeply to curb his defensive tone. He hadn't wanted to snap at Al, but it had slipped out. This was his family. They weren't trying to attack him.

"I'm sorry," he said, a little regretful. "I didn't mean to snap at you, Al."

"Not a problem, mate," Al said with a shake of his head. "I'd have done much worse if it was me in your place."

But he wouldn't have, James couldn't help but think, because Al had always been the responsible child. He wouldn't have gotten into this mess in the first place. He would've known not to give in to that girl. He was the poster-boy for good behaviour. He would've still been Chaser for England.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lily snort in apparent agreement. She'd collapsed into a chair by the table and was half-heartedly picking on a piece of toast. His mum was busy by the stove, hurriedly throwing together a quick breakfast of bacon, eggs and hashbrowns.

There was a bout of silence.

"Roxy told us about the IQA's decision," Al finally said, and both Mum and Lily looked up to examine his reaction. Even though he'd expected it to come up any second, he was still caught off-guard. James emitted a dry chuckle that sounded more like a choke. "Yeah. They kicked me out."

More silence. Then Lily muttered a quiet, scathing "what do you expect?"

"Lily Luna Potter!" Mum said angrily, her eyes glaring daggers at her youngest child. Lily looked repentant but didn't say anything to take back her words, which was very much like her—stubborn to the letter. James knew she was absolutely right—he couldn't have expected anything else—but he still felt very hurt. He knew this situation had affected her more than he'd assumed, but that had been kind of nasty.

He probably deserved it.

"Upstairs, now," Mum was telling Lily, who to her credit did not protest. Without another word, she picked up her plate and made her way out, but not before giving his hand a slight squeeze—her way of silently apologizing. _Maybe went too far._

Oh, god. Shit, shit, shit. He was going to cry.

"Did you read the letter they sent you, Jim-Jam?" Mum asked him gently, in response to which he only shook his head. "Roxy gave me a fair gist, though," he said wryly. He didn't want to read that letter anytime soon. Anytime in this life, even.

"You think they'll take you back, though?" Al asked hesitantly, as if he didn't want to get his brother's hopes up even with a simple question. Al didn't have to worry. James had botched it up well enough that even the possibility of hoping for reconsideration sounded vastly ludicrous. "Highly unlikely," James scoffed bitterly. "That ship has sailed at full speed, Al. Nobody's going to have to worry about having an idiot like me fronting their entire country."

"Here, breakfast," Mum said abruptly, as if eager to interrupt her son's verbal self-abuse. She dragged him to the table, forced him into a seat, purposefully placed a plate in front of his rumpled form and then glared at him until he took a reluctant bite. She waited until he was mid-chew before giving him a resolute look. "We're helping you fix this."

James laughed. It sounded rueful. "Roxy's already torn into me about that. I haven't a doubt."

"Good," she said approvingly, and poured him a cup of tea. "She told me you know the plan for the next couple of days. Now you know you can always stay here, right? Your room's still as you left it."

James tried to consider it, but he couldn't hold back the reluctance. He'd become an independent wizard after he'd graduated, and much as he didn't want to offend his mum… an accomplished Quidditch star, going back to live with his parents? Lord knows how he'd live that down. No, he could well afford his own place. The question was, how could he get something so short-notice?

"I know, mum," he said out loud as he thought about it. He gave her a sheepish smile. "It's just… you know…"

His mum gave him a knowing look—one that was tinged with wistfulness. She was still trying to accustom herself to the fact that her children were growing up. "I'm well aware," she said with a roll of her eyes. Beside him, Al laughed. "Stay here for a couple of days, at least, while you're trying to figure it out."

"Sure," James said with a grin. "I can do that."

"You can stay with me," Al offered generously. "I'm sure Lia wouldn't mind."

Lia Adams was Al's girlfriend of four years, a ex-Hufflepuff from Al's year and his fellow Auror-in-training—they'd purchased a flat together as soon as they'd graduated and were very happy together in their nice little crime-fighting bubble. James had always liked Lia because of how easy she was to get along with, and the fact that she was a rather daft hand at under-the-table gambling (though not many people knew of that fact).

But sweet as Lia was, he couldn't imagine her feeling all that stoked about him invading her home like Al was currently offering—their job as Aurors meant that home was probably the only place they found any peace, and a reckless older brother was the last thing they needed. James gave Al a look. "Thanks, Al, but I'm sure I can find my own place."

Al nodded and sat back.

"What about Freddie?" Mum suggested with a thoughtful frown. "You used to stay with him in a flat in Sheffield, didn't you?"

James shook his head. "He's already sharing with Louis and Connor Finnegan. I doubt they have any space for more people." That, and James had gotten too used to living on his lonesome to tolerate a sudden army of rambunctious roommates. Really, his days of sharing with Freddie had been great and he loved those guys, but they were _insane_ to live with.

Mum supported her chin with her hand. "Any other cousins?"

He shook his head. Dom was living with a couple of her girlfriends, Roxy on rent with a couple in Shaftsbury and the rest of them were still in school, in involved relationships or married, as in the case of Teddy and Victoire.

He would prefer not to share with a cousin anyway—he loved them all but he got enough of them as family.

Mum sighed, unable to think of anything else. "We'll just have to see what comes up, I suppose."

Unsure of what to say in response, he just focused on his breakfast and they spent the next few minutes in ruminating silence… which was finally interrupted with a flash of green from the fireplace in the Hall.

James felt the panic rise as he heard the telltale whoosh of Floo travel. His mum stood up and left the kitchen to greet the arrival. And just when he'd been settling down—

"Jimmy."

His father had arrived.

* * *

 **A/N:**

First off: thank you, Regenbogenschnoerkel, Lela-of-Bast and zjillbxtech for following this story, and to everybody who decided to give it a shot. Lela-of-Bast, I would also like to thank you for your review, and I'm happy you liked Molly and Eleanor. Thanks also to the anonymous guest that reviewed the chapter—I really appreciate it. :)

But onto this chapter—what do you think of James's character? Did I surprise you? I hope I did.

There'll be a lot more to this story than just the relationship between James and Lee, of course, I'll be having a lot of fun with magical theory and experimentation in this one. It's also going to be a challenge depicting the entirety of the Weasley family as well—there are way too many of them anyway, so I do apologize if a couple of them end up staying in the background. Then again, people always tend to group up a bit when in large numbers, so I'm hoping that it comes off naturally.

Tell me what you think of the chapter though! I'd like to know what you feel about how the plot is starting to develop. As always, criticism is welcome.

Thank you for reading!

Love,

R.


	3. Chapter 3

_24 October 2024—James_

"Jimmy," his father started, his green eyes weary and disappointed. His tone was tired. James winced. "Son…"

"I know, dad," he interrupted, not wanting him to say any more. Mum appeared behind him and began to set him a plate. James gave him an earnest look that communicated the fullest extent of his remorse. "I'm going to fix it, I promise."

"James, there shouldn't have been anything like this to fix in the first place," Dad told him with a sigh as he came up to him and placed his hands on his shoulders. He peered into James's eyes as if in search for something very particular. "Things like this… I thought we taught you better."

Ouch.

"Harry!" his mum hissed from behind but his father was resolute, even with how badly his words had hit James. He furrowed his brows and set his mouth. "I've usually let you off easy with your… well, your _exploits_ because I wanted to give you space—I thought you'd figure it out in your own time, just like me, just like your mum and everybody else in the family. But James, this one… this one was incredibly stupid of you."

Merlin, James felt like a thirteen-year-old again, being reprimanded by his father after a few too many pranks gone wrong. Now he _really_ wanted to cry. He blinked hard for a couple of seconds in order to ruthlessly stifle that unmanly urge.

"I know, dad," he said ashamedly. A hand rose to ruffle the back of his head—a nervous habit that came from the old man himself and despite it all, Dad's lips twitched at the familiar motion. "I promise you, I'm really going to make it better. I— I don't want to disappoint any of you—well, any more than I already have, anyway."

At this, his dad's face visibly softened, the frown sliding off like melted butter and James resisted the urge to heave a sigh of relief. Say what you will about the Man-Who-Conquered, but his disapproval was a great deal scarier than his anger… lord knows the latter wasn't anything to scoff at.

When Harry Potter was angry, his muscles would tense and his green eyes would burn holes and his face would scowl so fiercely that the subject of his anger would head for the high hills. But when Harry Potter was disappointed, his eyes would look straight into your soul and find you lacking at your basest—he had expectations and you failed to satisfy them, which was unforgivable because he only expected you to be the best of you, and that was something well within your capabilities.

He incited guilt with the slightest of frowns. The Weasley adults abused this skill of his to the fullest of their ability when it came to reprimanding their children. The way Uncle Harry turned them to a repentant mess with only a little quirk of his eyebrows… they were envious and in awe.

"Hey," his dad said and James was extricated from his thoughts to register that he was actually being hugged. Dad continued. "You shouldn't have to fix it for us. You should want to fix it for _you_. This is _your_ life, James." He gave him a comforting squeeze before moving back to give him a searching glance. "I only want what's best for you."

"And I know that," James said, his voice small. "They kicked me out of the team, Dad. I'm feeling the need to fix it every second."

"Oh." Dad kind of deflated a little, and James felt even guiltier. He'd been so proud… Then he hugged him again. He heard Al snicker and in the back of his mind, James realised that his family was a particularly saccharine kind of touchy-feely. "Jimmy, I'm so sorry."

James tried to shrug, though it was a task with how his father was currently wrapped around him. "I had it coming."

Dad patted him on the back and finally pulled away. Then he pulled him back to the table, where another plate had been set for him. James settled back into his seat and began to pick at his half-eaten meal. As Mum and Al joined them, his dad spoke again. "I've made a visit to the Prophet, at any rate. They aren't going to retract the article, the smug bastards, because this time they actually have proof—that girl… what's her name, Natasha? She practically shouted it out in Hogwarts today—very unashamedly, might I add—and the Owlery was practically empty with how desperately students were trying to send out the news."

James pushed away his meal and laid his head on the table. Around him, Al was frowning in distaste and Mum's expression was a biting storm, her mouth pinched and her fists clenched. Dad must have spoken to Aunt Minerva.

He began to feel very resentful of this inconsequential girl. He hardly remembered her and here she was, completely ruining his life for him. He knew he couldn't give her all the blame, of course—he was equally at fault for letting it happen—but she sure was rubbing salt on the wound.

Dad continued. "Anyhow, I've given Anthony a call." Anthony Goldstein of Mitchell and Goldstein was their lawyer and a trusted friend. His tone had turned a little wicked, which made James quirk an eyebrow. "He's going to send her an official letter, to warn her that if she doesn't want the Potter House coming down on her with a lawsuit for attempted line theft, she would be well-advised to keep her mouth shut."

Ha-ha. James's lips pulled up into a smile despite himself, and Mum smirked, giving Dad's hand an approving squeeze. Al beside him emitted an amused noise. "Thanks, Dad."

"Minerva was hopping mad, she was," he added, a small grin on his face as he remembered. "Gave the girl an entire month of detention for 'causing an unnecessary disturbance'. She also told me to inform you that she expected better of you, James, and that if you were still in Hogwarts, you'd be scrubbing toilet seats for an entire year."

Thank god he wasn't. James tried not to shudder, even as he revelled in the unfortunate fate of his apparent 'conquest'. Aunt Minerva was frightening on a good day.

"Where's Lily though?" Dad asked after a few moments of quiet, and Mum made an annoyed noise. "She's upstairs," she told him in explanation as she took a bite of some buttered toast. "Got a little too scratchy, so I sent her up to cool off."

"Ah," Dad said in latent understanding, and the family—barring James, who still fervently believed that he deserved it—rolled their eyes. "I'll go have a chat with her later," he thought out loud as he sipped on some tea. "Minerva's expecting her back in time for dinner, at the very least. Gin, maybe you could try talking to the Prophet again later? See if they can tone down the nasty?"

"Sure, I can try," his mum said as she leant back and rolled her shoulders, her lips curling into a small scowl. James felt a little hopeful despite himself. His mum was one of their senior-most Quidditch Correspondents and had the temper to incinerate a thousand cities. Her time as a Harpy had also left her with impressive maiming… er, press management skills. She was also a Potter and a Weasley and the Prophet practically grovelled to keep her around, if only to maintain that 'priceless', boastful connection with the war-hero family. She would know how to scare them into submission.

He settled down more comfortably after that. Even Dad was terrified of Mum when she was angry.

"Roxy tell you that you need to move out, James?" Dad asked, and James was again reminded of that unfortunate circumstance. His mouth turned into a little grimace. "I can ask around, if you want?"

He shook his head. "Nah, I can figure it out." He didn't want them to do everything for him. He was an adult, wasn't he? The prospect of living here for anything more than a few days was looking rather exhausting.

Al got up then, stretching his hands above his head. "I'll be heading back, then," he said with a ruffle of James's hair. James gave him a shove. "Lia's probably itching for news."

Mum snorted. "As is the rest of the family." With a roll of her eyes, she got up to walk Al to the Floo and then probably give everybody the rough details. His dad grinned at the jab and then turned to give James a curious glance, as if to see how he would react to Mum telling the entire family. James met his gaze, and they held eye contact for a moment before he finally smiled. "You'll be fine."

A beat of silence.

"Well, maybe after a little while," another voice said… a voice that James recognised. He looked up in apprehension and his blood ran cold.

Janet Notting stood there, her arms folded and her heels tapping loud. Behind her diminutive visage stood an amused Roxy, her hands currently holding an intimidating little pile of quills and parchment. James resisted the urge to run.

"James Potter," his press correspondent said, her brown hair frizzing and her lips set into a frightening scowl. Out of the corner of his eye, his dad winced in apparent sympathy. Thanks a lot, Dad. Fat lot of help that does. "You have a lot of explaining to do."

James gulped.

* * *

 _25 October, 2024—Eleanor_

I gave the study a considering glance. I'd covered two walls with bookshelves that already boasted a fair number of books of both Muggle and magical origin, courtesy my obsessive collecting over… pretty much the entire extent of my life barring the _really_ young years. A desk sat in front of the third wall that was instead covered with a softboard for future pinning and I'd also gone and bought myself a swivel chair to make it seem real office-like. Also, swivel chairs were a lot of fun and how could I expect to do any work unless I was allowed to spin around and around and giggle like a little child, hm?

A loud thud echoed from outside, followed by a cluttering noise and a low groan. I rolled my eyes and peeked out of the little room. "Molly, what did you drop?"

"How do you know it's me?" The redhead asked indignantly, even as the evidence—a whole bunch of cutlery scattered around her immediate vicinity—spoke for itself. "It could be Kurt for all you know!"

"That's highly doubtful," I said dryly as the blonde man raised a hand from within his cloud of laughter to give me an approving thumbs-up. "We all know you're the clumsy one. Kurt's got the grace of a damn swan, doesn't he? I'd never assume it's him when you're around."

Molly looked even more indignant but she didn't say anything in response, choosing instead to wave her wand and make the cutlery go where it was supposed to. The cluster of knives, forks and spoons followed her directions but not very quietly—rather, they aggressively jabbed at the doorway and then bounced along the floors as they went. What was that charm she was using? The levitation spell? There were a lot of things to levitate and only so much concentration—perhaps the only reason they were moving together at all was because they fell under the same category—cutlery. I made a memo. "Sometimes," she said as she dodged a particularly misbehaving knife. "It's like you love him more than you love me. It's not nice."

"Sure," I rolled my eyes again. Kurt recovered from his laughter to give me an amused smile before gesturing towards a nondescript little box. It was the only box left to be unpacked, so quick had been the process of settling in. How I adored being a witch. "So where do you want this to go?" he asked in a smooth tenor.

I gave the box a scrutinising glance. It was _the_ box. All my notes and journals and random experiments from my Hogwarts years. It looked small, sure, but it packed a whole lot.

"My study," I told him, and he gave me a nod before squatting to pick it up. With a strained grunt, he hefted it up and struggled to carry it into the adjoining room, his face screwed up and his arms bulging. I decided not to mention that he could've just levitated it, or maybe cast a Feather-Lite Charm. It was not my place to question the manliness of men.

Molly put the last touches to the little kitchen before giving me a questioning look. "Anything else, Lee?"

"Nah, we're all done," I sighed as I wrapped an arm around her waist to bring her into a side-hug. She gave me a kiss on my crown. "Now all I gotta do is stock up, but I'm going to do that with Mum. She'll know exactly what I'll need."

"Mm," Mols said as she gave me one last squeeze before separating and collapsing onto one of the particularly fluffy floor cushions—the lurid yellow one that she'd been quick to mark as her favourite. "Any luck on the flatmate hunt?"

"Nope," I exhaled but I wasn't very surprised. After all, I wasn't going to find a flatmate in a day. "I'm thinking of putting up an ad in the Prophet, maybe. Did you ask around?"

"Yeah," she said as Kurt returned and settled down on the cushion next to her, his jeans riding down as he splayed about in a mess of limbs. Almost subconsciously, the redhead reached forward to wrap her fingers around his and my inner sap went 'aw' at the sight. They could never go without constant physical contact. "Nobody's looking for a place. Kurt's asked around too, but no luck."

"Damn it," I sighed. With a small tsk because I was feeling very dissatisfied, I headed into the kitchen to make some tea (no matter that I hadn't yet gone shopping. A Britisher always made sure to keep their tea.). "You guys want a cuppa?" I asked over my shoulder, and was unsurprised to hear two thankful confirmations.

As I waved my wand and got the process running, my eyes landed on the unremarkable little piece of paper sitting on the kitchen counter. It was a letter, and the choice of stationary was unlike what you'd expect of most of the British Wizarding population. It was also a missive… from the Head of the Recruitment Division of the Department of Mysteries.

It was so crazy. I was only eighteen-years-old. They were out of their minds. The DoM was a hard place to get into, and almost impossible for someone who was so fresh out of Hogwarts. And they'd gone and approached me… with a job offer.

And that was what the letter was. A job offer with one of the most elusive organisations in the entire Wizarding World. They wanted me as an Unspeakable. If I was willing, I would be meeting the aforementioned Head, a certain Timothy Wilkes on Saturday evening at 7:00 PM sharp to discuss the details of my employment.

I'd received the letter maybe an hour ago. I was still stupefied.

Honestly, whatever they were snorting down there, I wouldn't mind me having some.

"You wondering about that letter again?" a voice broke into my thoughts, and I blinked a couple of times before focusing on Kurt, who was looking at me with an amused grin. He angled his head and I looked down. The pot was boiling. It evidently had been for a while.

I gave him a sheepish smile. "Yeah," I said as I prepared the three cups of tea. "I can't wrap my head around it."

"I don't see why you're surprised," he said, and I looked up to give him an astonished look. The hell, Donovan? His grin widened in response. "Don't look at me like that, you know I'm right. You're intelligent, analytical and quick-on-the-grab, not to mention halfway mental, which is probably a major advantage in experimentation and research. You also went and decided to disprove a _law_ for a _NEWT_ project, so who knows what you could do when you have all the toys."

"I didn't disprove the _whole_ law," I said weakly, unprepared for this sudden onslaught of flattery. "Only a part of it."

"Inconsequential," he said with a wave of his hand. "Have you sent them a response?"

I shook my head as I began to add the sugar. "No, I don't know how to write it."

He gently took the sugar from my hand. "Go write it," he said with a small smirk. "Break in that study of yours. I'm sure you'll figure it out."

I grinned despite myself. _My_ study. The Ravenclaw in me squealed. "Okay," I agreed, and then reached forward to give the man an appreciative hug. "You know, it's times like these when I see why Molly keeps you around."

"Lee, it's been three years," he said exasperated as I laughed and picked up the letter. "You say that every time."

"It's fun to rile you up," I explained, but I gave his hand an affectionate squeeze as I walked past him and towards my new study.

"Don't forget your tea!" he said behind me, and I waved a dismissive hand before pulling out my wand. With an absentminded flick, my cup was soon floating past me and setting itself onto the desk with a small clink.

"Showoff," I faintly heard him mutter and I laughed as I sat down on the swivel chair.

The letter came into focus and I ran through the words once again.

 _An interest in your abilities… an opportunity to engage with some very exclusive studies in magic… flexibility in employment,_ it said, and I sighed. Then after a few spins because I couldn't resist, I pulled some paper out of my desk and began to write.

 _Dear Mr. Wilkes,_

 _Thank you very much for your offer. I would be delighted to accept…_

* * *

 _25 October, 2024—meanwhile, with James_

James was nervous.

And how could he not be? After all, he was sitting outside the office of the Coach of the Appleby Arrows. He was also sitting outside the office of Alicia Spinnet, who was a dragon when riled up.

And he'd done a bit more than simply rile her up. He'd probably stamped on her eggs and then laughed in her face for good measure.

He shuddered, now a little terrified. There was no way he was walking out of this undamaged.

"Hey," Roxy said, squeezing his shoulder. "It'll be fine."

"Sure," he said sarcastically. "Just dandy."

"Can't be worse than yesterday," she said unfazed.

He couldn't hold back the wince. There was no way he could deny that.

After the hell he'd gone through with first Roxy and then his family, not to mention that minor explosion that came in the form of an irate Janet Notting… well, today was probably going to be a cakewalk.

Okay, not a cakewalk. Maybe an explosion of a lesser magnitude.

Yes, that sounded about right.

"James!" a voice cut into his thoughts and he blinked, a little out-of-sorts. Roxy was regarding him with a small frown. "Would you quit zoning out?"

"I can't face her!" he cried as he burrowed into his seat and tried to hide under his gangling limbs. After a moment of debate, he also tucked himself into his robe and pulled it over his head for good measure. His entire world was now comprised of constricted postures and an ocean of black fabric. Outside his cocoon, his cousin began to giggle. "Roxy!" he hissed as he tried to make himself even more invisible. "She's going to kill me and you're laughing!"

"She's not going to kill you," she said, her voice entertained. "Maybe maim you a little bit, but definitely not kill you. How will you win her any matches if you're dead?"

"I'm not winning any matches! They're going to kick me out of the team!" he tried to make her understand. Why couldn't she see it? He could see it very clearly, and he was the dumb one of the two.

"I'll thank you not to put words in my mouth, Potter," a new voice said. James froze.

Coach Spinnet.

"Potter, who's Potter?" he squeaked, now lying completely still. "This is just a pile of black cloth. No Potter here."

There were more giggles. A small sigh was heard, and the robe was unceremoniously tugged off his head. James blinked a bit before finally focusing. In front of him stood three very intimidating people.

"'Lo, James," said Bobby Carlton, Arrows Keeper and Team Captain. His face was sweaty—fresh from team practice, apparently, which stung James because he hadn't been sent the notice, even though it was expected—but his brown eyes were glinting with amusement, which was obviously a good sign. Then again this was Bobby Carlton and Bobby Carlton found amusement in everything, which meant that his mood was probably ineffective in helping him ascertain any sort of outcome—maybe it wasn't a good sign. Beside him stood Assistant Coach Wesley Robinson, and his face was set into an unhappy scowl. James resisted the urge to scowl back because right now, he was supposed to grovel. The man had never liked him. If he'd had anything to say, there wouldn't have been a talk in the first place, only a standard letter informing him of his contract's termination. No need for face-to-face communication. In fact, the less he saw his face, the better. Git.

"Time to talk, Potter," said Coach Spinnet, her blonde hair up in a ponytail as she stared down at him with inscrutable blue eyes. Next to him, Roxy stood up and held out her hand. James held back a whimper.

"Up and at 'em, James," Roxy said, looking amused but firm.

"How about up, up and away?" James offered weakly but shuffled to his feet nonetheless. Coach Spinnet snorted, a small break in her otherwise emotionless demeanor that made James feel momentarily hopeful, but it disappeared so quickly that he wondered if he'd actually imagined it. "Get," she ordered with an angle of her head, and James got. Caring not to make any sort of eye contact whatsoever, he made his way inside her office and stood front and center, trying not to quiver because he was a twenty-one-year-old man, damn it, he was going to act like it. The rest of them filed in after him, Bobby engaging Roxy in pleasant conversation as they settled down into their chairs—the two coaches behind the desk, the two friendlies in front.

Wandering eyes had James focusing on the display to his right, which was filled with a plethora of trophies, notations and accolades over the ages. A new shelf had been added to mark the newest decade, and therein sat his favorite additions—two hulking golden League Cups, years 2022 and 2023. The two trophies they'd won with him on the team. Next to them sat the usual Team Photograph and he stood right in the center, a beaming smile on his face as he jostled about with the other Chasers, Jonathan Whitby and Diana Cross.

Despite his nerves, a mixture of pride and shame welled within him. He was never going to be in the same photograph with these people ever again—at least, not in the same circumstances. He couldn't help but give Coach Spinnet a mournful look.

"James, sit down," she sighed wearily as she pointed at the seat lying empty next to Roxy. He sat.

There was a moment of silence.

"The hell were you thinking, Potter?" she finally shouted. "A _student?_ You out of your _mind?"_

There it was. He resisted the urge to burrow again. It wouldn't get him anywhere.

It would sure help protect him from the onslaught, though.

"Would it help if I said I _wasn't_?" he asked meekly, and was rewarded with a scathing scowl. He emitted a tiny noise and sank into his seat. "Thought not."

"I've been inundated by owls the second that rag hit the homes, James! Not to mention angry Floo calls from the League Administration and the team Sponsors! I even got a personal visit from a representative of the IQA to ask me exactly where I got off recommending you for the National Team when you were such a damn cock-up in the first place! Do you have _any_ idea how badly this has reflected on us?"

"Coach Spinnet, I promise you, I'm _very_ aware of the consequences of my actions, and I am _incredibly_ sorry," James said earnestly, his eyes wide and his body angling strategically so that it was facing the office door. Beside him, Roxy wrapped her hand around his arm. "I have no excuses and I'm not even going to _try_ and bullshit my way out of it, but before you go ahead and kick me out, I just want to say that I am _going_ to fix it, I promise."

"Yes, would you care to tell us _how_?" Robinson asked sarcastically as Coach sat back with an irritated look. James paused, caught a bit off-guard.

"Well, I haven't exactly figured that out yet," he said timidly, but hastened to continue when he saw Coach begin to glare at him again. "But I'm working on it, I swear!"

"Alicia," Roxy finally cut in, looking very exasperated indeed. James realized that he'd probably lost it a little bit, if Bobby's stifled laughter was to be taken into any consideration. "Alicia, we've already spoken to Janet and contacted the media with our statement. Today Witch Weekly, the Prophet, the WWN and Quidditch Weekly will be releasing the approved statement of a very repentant James Potter, who will say that while he wishes it had never happened at all, he is not going to deny his role in this 'unforgivable embarrassment' in any way. He is incredibly regretful of how badly his actions have reflected on the British community at large and will do his level best to make it up to them, as he owes it to his fans. And while he is distraught that he has had to abstain from representing Britain in the World Cup as a consequence, he also whole-heartedly supports the decision as he feels he doesn't deserve any less."

She paused for a second and then gave James's hand a little squeeze. "We've also taken care to mention that any decision the Appleby Arrows will take regarding the matter will be accepted without protest—and it will. Alicia," she added, leaning forward and giving her a resolute look. "I promise you, James was completely unaware of the situation he was getting into, but if he was, he would have done everything to make sure that it affected nobody in the process. If he says he'll fix it, I wholeheartedly believe that he will."

The room took a second to digest her words.

Coach Spinnet leaned forward to give James a searching look, her forehead in a little frown. "What about you, James?" she asked, tilting her head. "Roxy's defended you and everything, and you've given us the 'what', but I'd like to hear the ' _how'_. How are you planning to handle yourself in the light of your actions?"

James opened his mouth to respond before stopping in consideration. He cocked his head in thought. All this time he'd been resolving to fix everything, but he hadn't actually gotten around to figuring out the how. He'd only been depending on Roxy, Janet and his family to tell him what to do.

He bit his lip and tried to collect his feelings. How _would_ he handle himself?

"Well," he sounded out slowly as he stared at the wood of the desk in front of him. "It's obvious, isn't it? I'm going to behave. And I mean it this time," he added defensively even though nobody had actually scoffed. "I'm going to behave. I'm going to keep a low profile, clean up my act, and do my best to keep a situation like this from happening again. I never meant to hurt anybody simply because of their association with me, Coach. I swear, I can do good."

He hesitated for a second, but then the words practically fell out of his mouth with their eagerness to be expressed. "Please don't kick me out of the team, Coach," he said desperately as his eyes looked up to meet hers. "I love Quidditch. I grew up with Quidditch. It's the only thing I know, and I wouldn't be able to bear it if I couldn't play. I know I let it get to my head and I'm telling you, I regret every moment I acted like an idiot, but I want to play. I want to play for you guys, play with this team, and I want to give it all I've got. I don't care if you bench me—actually, I'll hate it if you bench me, but I won't protest it. Just…" he trailed off for a second. "I just want the opportunity to fix myself. And while I'm not fully sure how I'll accomplish it, I'm willing to give it my best shot."

There was a small pause.

Coach Spinnet looked speculative. Robinson didn't look convinced. James ran over his words again and figured that he'd probably sounded like a disjointed fool, but he knew the sentiment was there. He'd practically poured it into his words. Now it was only up to them. The decision of his entire career, his entire life, lay in their hands.

"Well, I'm sold," Bobby suddenly said, and everybody jumped a little bit. James gaped at him as he stood up and stretched his hands above his head before sniffing his armpit a little bit. He wrinkled his nose. "And also apparently in urgent need of a hot bath. Whatever you want, Coach, but I've known James to be a good kid, and for me, that's good enough." And then without any fanfare he just ambled out the door, whistling as he went.

James sat there, feeling stupefied. What—

Coach Spinnet snorted. "Classic Carlton," she muttered, reaching up to tighten her ponytail—a gesture that made James stiffen with fear. To tighten the ponytail meant to make a final decision. She'd figured out what she wanted to do. "Probation," she said abruptly as she began to pull out a sheath of papers. "Indefinitely, until Assistant Coach Robinson or I give you the all-clear. You're also on water duty for the next two weeks. One more stumble, James," and to emphasize, she pointed her quill at him very intimidatingly. "And you're out."

Silence.

"Coach, if I may protest—" Robinson began because obviously James was being let off too easy, but Coach was having none of it. "That's final, Wes," she said, giving him the eye. "And the higher-ups agree."

"What?" James blurted, now completely out-of-sorts. "The higher-ups?"

"Well, I had to consult them with the decision, didn't I?" Coach said blithely as she began to sign a couple of documents. "I just wanted to see how you'd react before I made any final calls. Safe to say, you're relatively off the hook… not completely though, so watch yourself."

"I shall," he said, ecstatic. Roxy beside him was beaming, and unable to contain herself, she leapt out of her seat to give him a tight hug. Again, he rolled his eyes at the affectionate ways of the Potter-Weasley family. "I'll watch myself like Filch when he's on the prowl. I'll even hang myself up on the rafters and ask somebody to whip me if I misbehave."

Spinnet snorted again. "Get lost, Potter," she said as Robinson stalked out, swollen up like a red balloon. "Practice on Monday. 6:00 AM. Don't be late."

"Sure, 6:00 sounds great," he said as Roxy pulled him out. He turned around to grin at her as he stumbled. "I'll be there at the crack of dawn, if you want. Go Spinnet. Go Arrows!"

"Shut up, James," Roxy told him as they headed on to the Appartition point. "Don't be an idiot."

"They didn't fire me!" he informed her as if she hadn't been there for the entirety of the discussion. "Roxy, they didn't fire me!"

"I didn't expect them to," Roxy said with a snort. "Come on. Gran's having a 'you-didn't-get-fired' celebratory lunch over at the Burrow."

"What?" James asked as his cousin wrapped her fingers around his arm, her lips quirked in a mischievous smile. "Wait, how does she know I didn't get fired? Roxy, I can Apparate on my own— Roxy—"

 _Crack_.

* * *

 _25 October, 2024—Eleanor_

There was a stain in my cushion.

It was brown, and grimy, and stubborn, and it had come from the meatball I'd just dropped onto my lurid, beautiful, _yellow_ fluffy cushion.

My very first stain! And it hadn't come from Molly! I was so proud of myself.

I set the container aside to give it a speculative stare. It was setting into the cushion rather quickly, and I knew that in a minute, even a _Tergeo_ wouldn't be very effective in cleaning it off. Rather, it would probably take about five _Tergeo'_ s, and things usually tended to wear out somewhere after around three.

I decided to leave it for sentimentality's sake. In fact, I went and put a Preservation Charm on it for good measure. Then I aw'd at it for a little while because I was very proud of my apartment's first stain… and then thanked Merlin that it was only a little saucy one and not something large and disgusting and slippery like Troll's drool or something, because keeping that around would definitely scare off any would-be flatmates.

Also, I wasn't that disgusting.

Probably.

Perhaps I'd bottle some up to poke at later… but I wouldn't keep it for sentimentality, definitely.

Maybe.

With a sigh, I picked up my noodles and forked some into my mouth, chewing as I turned another page of _The Consequences and Characteristics of Runic Anamorphosis_.

 _One of the most important uses of Anamorphic Scripture is in the art of creating trickster arrays, that greatly complicate the probability of anyone managing to crack the set runic pattern—in fact, if one does not know what they are looking for, it becomes very easy to fall for the hidden feint and activate any defensive measures or lockdown characteristics. Experienced professionals in the art of Curse Breaking consider this to be one of their most important guidelines: to always check for Anamorphic Scripture, because you're an absolute idiot if you don't… and most probably a dead one, at that._

I snorted. The author of this book was priceless. I wondered how he even managed to get published, considering how much he'd managed to insult the reader with every turn of the page. I turned the book over. _Author: Jeremiah Craft._ He was probably fun at parties.

I quickly shoveled down my lunch and then tossed it into the dustbin in the corner. With a small sigh, I leant back on my cushion and then pondered what to do. Kurt and Molly were off being sociable with the other Weasley-Potters for their family lunch and while Molly had asked me to come along, I'd declined. It was quite strange, actually, that I still hadn't attended a single lunch at the Burrow with a Weasley for a best friend. All the other friends had made at least one appearance (they usually kept going back) but I'd managed to avoid it altogether.

But now that I thought about it, it had probably been a mixture of circumstance and choice. Choice, in that the thought of meeting so many famous and accomplished people scared me more than I cared to admit… but then I was perhaps even more scared of meeting this huge and loving family. They were so many of them! It was easy to feel outnumbered, even at Hogwarts. For me, it was only my Mum, Aunt Sally and my little cousins, Pip and Nora. Dad had passed away a long time ago, Aunt Sally was divorced and all my grandparents had died before I was even born.

I'd obviously met a couple of them over my time at Hogwarts. Molly's parents Percy and Audrey definitely (I was proud to say that they were actually quite fond of me) and Molly's Uncle George at the Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, their famous joke shop. The rest of them, however, remained to be names in stories I'd heard over the years from Molly.

One day, Molly would get sick of my dithering and throw me in the lion's den. This was probably going to be when she and Kurt finally decided to get married. This day was also probably going to be sometime very soon… but until then, I was happy to stay in my little bubble.

I stared at the clock. It was a couple of minutes past two. I made a decision.

I was going to explore.

I rolled off the cushion and onto the floor before pushing myself up to my feet. Quickly making my way into the bedroom, I exchanged my cotton shorts for a pair of loose-fitting jeans and then tucked the ends into my well-worn boots. After sliding in my wand, I reached for the keys on the counter and finally stepped out of my brand-new apartment.

The air outside was cold. It was Autumn. Well oops.

Swearing, I went back in and picked up a fluffy grey coat before heading back out again, absentmindedly casting a warming charm on the inner lining to keep it comfy. After a speculative glance on either side, I made my decision and started walking towards the left.

And Muggle London was a beautiful city! I sighed and happily shoved my hands into my pockets as I walked down the street, grinning at the honking cars and the chattering people as I went. So different from its magical counterpart. So different from Hogwarts, and all its magical, mythical, medieval glory. So different from Bath, where Mum and Aunt Sally were probably looking out the window and shouting at the kiddies to come in for lunch _right now_ because they weren't going to heat it up again if it got cold, however much they begged.

For a few moment, I desperately missed that two-floor cornerside bungalow and its pretty white walls and turquoise blue shutters. We had a little garden too, with Mum's proud vegetable-bed and a little waterhole on the side where a couple of fishes swam. The place was lively and lived in. I decided that Sunday night would be a good time for a spontaneous family dinner. I couldn't possibly wait for Halloween before I saw those lovelies.

I had to needle Mum into helping me with the shopping anyway. That's it. I slotted it firmly into my schedule. Shopping and dinner. It's not like they'd have any plans.

I breathed in the air and then promptly sneezed. Then I realised that I'd actually ended up walking quite a bit as I'd let my thoughts meander.

The place had transitioned. Diners and shops now lined the streets in a commercial hubbub with a couple of friendly little pubs thrown in for some good fun. The people were bustling about in their busy lives, chatting, eating, having a cuppa, having fun, and it was the loveliest thing. One pub in particular caught my eye.

The Odd Waffling, it was called, and it looked rustic and welcoming.

The weather was chilling. It _would_ be nice to have a beer.

I checked my pockets. A couple of wayward bills brushed against my hand. I grinned.

Splendid.

* * *

It was a wizarding pub.

The hell.

The bartender had rather cheekily explained as he sat me down and whipped me up a drink. He said that the place was charmed to come visible and attract the innocent attention of any magical being that happened past, which apparently wasn't limited to a measly one-in-thousand as you would obviously think. No, he said; the section next to Dogwood Ave was actually the home of a very large International Portkey terminal and it brought lots of business because foreign people loved to drink. Because obviously it made sense to put a travel port inside a Muggle residential area where tons of people were liable to ask questions about the number of foreigners that seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

This was apparently explained away with the excuse of some lake about a twenty-minute drive away that was an apparent attraction because of its diverse wildlife or whatnot, but really, what kind of a diverse wildlife did one even expect to see in Central London? A particularly dimwitted squirrel?

Honestly, people could be stupid sometimes. The silliness of the magical world never ceased to amaze me.

It bizarrely worked out though, which made me feel very amused.

On the bright side, all it took was a ten-minute walk for me to get a nice supply of lovely, twisted concoctions that would make my world spin without needing to worry about splinching myself trying to get back home in a drunken high. Now all I'd need is a chaperone. Or a Molly. Or a Kurt.

In recommendation: their Whistling Whiskey's were a pleasure to my tummy.

I quickly polished off my drink and gave the bartender—Benjy—a grin before slipping out of my seat. "You have a regular, Benjy," I said as I began to don my coat. "If those Whistling Whiskeys have got anything to say about your bartending, I'm probably going to have to try every drink on your menu."

"Not all in the same day, I'd hope," he cracked as he began to wipe the counter, and I laughed.

"I'll have you know that I have an amazing tolerance," I claimed as I began to walk backwards to the door.

"Hon, I'll believe it when I see it," he said, and I laughed some more before waving goodbye and stepping out into the early evening air. It had been a few hours, and a quick glance at my watch told me it was just after five.

The people had changed. Now, more children and teenagers lay about… school had probably let out. And to imagine, if I never got that letter as an eleven-year-old, I'd probably be done with my A levels by now and on my way to college doing Merlin-knows-what. Instead here I was, with a diploma from Hogwarts and an almost-Mastery in Rune Studies, and I was on a mission to revolutionise magic.

So _weird_.

I rolled my eyes. This walking business was turning me into an introspective numpty. I hastened my pace, a little anxious to get back home—I had to start putting up the wards soon, or I'd never get it done.

Soon, the familiar stretch of houses caught my eye. I grinned and swiftly reached my block. Climbing up the stairs, I quickly unlocked my door and stepped in. The house was exactly as I'd left it.

Well, except for one redheaded addition.

"Molly?" I asked a little bemused. The pretty girl was curled up on the yellow cushion—the one with the stain—with perhaps the strangest expression I had ever seen. Hearing my voice, she quickly untangled herself and looked up to regard me with unblinking eyes. I furrowed my eyebrows, feeling very confused. "You're never back so soon from your Weasley lunches."

"Lee," she said, eyebrows furrowed as she reached up to tug on the ends of her hair. My eyes shifted a bit to stop on a container of some very yummy looking peach cobbler by her side. My frown grew. She usually brought me stuff but it was never dessert because the Weasleys tended to polish it off before it even reached the table. And peach cobbler was a particular weakness of mine.

Was she bribing me?

"Molly, what did you do?" I asked her warily.

"Lee," she said. Her face was constipated. The hell was bothering her so much? "I did a thing."

* * *

 **A/N:**

There it is. Chapter three. Next chapter, the thing is going to happen. The one we've all been waiting for. I think. It's only about ten of us, so it's not much of an 'all'.

But I like how it's going. James is turning out to be a very interesting character to explore. And I've also tried to give you an idea of Eleanor's relationship with magic. What do you think? Too far-fetched? How'd you like the chapter in general? I'd love to see how you imagine it turning out.

But on another note: thank you jordp and Cap92A for your reviews—I'm very glad that you liked it. Also to the people that followed—well, wow. That you want to read more baffles and delights me. I hope you aren't disappointed.

Next chapter might be a little slow. It's being a bit stubborn. But eh. It comes when it comes.

Do tell me what you think! I always appreciate the reader's perspective.

Love,  
R. :]


	4. Chapter 4

_October 25, 2024—earlier, with James_

"Now James, you can't have me believing that's all you're going to take, are you? Have some more." And with that, a small mountain of roast beef was unceremoniously plopped onto his not inconsequential meal.

"Of course, Gran," he said weakly as he stared at his food, a little afraid. His cousin Dominique laughed from across the garden, her blonde hair shimmering in the autumn sun as she forked some vegetables into her mouth. He glared. She offered him a smirk before going back to her conversation with Teddy and Victoire. He continued to glare.

This time at nothing in particular though.

For some strange reason (tosh), almost every single Wotter who wasn't in school had managed to make it to this luncheon, _despite_ it being a working day. It was about two 'o' clock in the afternoon and the garden of the Burrow was crawling with redheads (and a maybe smattering of other colours), and Gran had also taken it upon herself to whip up enough food to feed a starving country… which just about managed to satisfy all of their hulking appetites. Uncle Charlie and Uncle Bill had conjured a temporary table to seat the hungry family and it was very visibly straining under the weight of her cooking.

James had felt very uncomfortable throughout it all. Toss the good mood he'd been in at having avoided getting the boot from Spinnet—that had deflated like a poked balloon. Nope, he was annoyed now.

Every damn Weasley had cornered him at least once over the past hour to try and get him to talk about his 'feelings' and then about what he was planning to do when it became clear that his 'feelings' weren't up for discussion, no matter their concern (however much it was appreciated).

Some of them he hadn't minded. Uncle George had been cool—a slap on the back because he'd actually scored (this had earned him a very disapproving look from Aunt Angelina) and a couple of words about maybe checking for ID before he jumped into the sack with the bird (this earned him the cold shoulder from his wife for the rest of the afternoon). Uncle Charlie had been fine too—he hadn't much to say, he said, because he'd been even more of an idiot that James was at that age. The only difference was no one cared because he wasn't famous.

Uncle Ron had been surprisingly loud and frantic, but James should have probably expected that considering his fanatical love for Quidditch (not that James himself had any room to comment). Aunt Hermione and Uncle Percy, however, had been horrible. The lecture they'd forced upon him had lasted _ten_ minutes—and if anyone thought ten minutes wasn't that long, perhaps they ought to spend it getting lectured by them instead.

His cousins had thankfully let the adults do all the talking and the reprimanding, which made James feel very grateful. They'd shown their support and concern in less noticeable ways—a squeeze of an arm, a kiss on the cheek, a quick hug, a witty remark. It had been nice.

But damn it, they were being _too_ nice. Their reactions just didn't sit right with him. They were walking on eggshells around him. What was this family? Even _Louis_ was being nice. Louis was an asshole on a good day.

Where was Louis anyway? Had he already left? Freddie was still around.

He'd probably gone to that store to chat up the cashier again. Damn him.

"James, hey," his cousin Rose said as she plopped down onto the grass in front of him. He took a moment to observe her warily. Her woofy red hair was piled up on the top of her head and she wore a T shirt and some worn skinny jeans. Her freckled face was giving him a very blithe look as if trying very hard to be casual, but her eyes belied her worry. He contained a sigh—he couldn't have _another_ one of those conversations. "Have some?" she held out a bowl of cut fruit and cream.

"Nah, maybe later," he said, leaning back as he took a bite of his meal, wracking his brains for a way to make her less worried and more… well, more normal. Then he remembered the perfect distraction.

"So where's the boyfriend?" he asked extra casually and grinned when her eyes immediately narrowed. He then rubbed it in a little bit to make sure she was properly distracted. "What, he too good for lowly Weasley lunches now?"

"You're actually picking on him when he's not around," Rose stated, her cheeks flushing, worry forgotten. She pointed her spoon at him, slightly irritated. "I don't understand why you all keep doing that. He's perfectly decent. He only turns into a git when he's being _defensive_." That last word was said pointedly, as if she was trying to make a point. His grin widened.

"It's funny when he starts screeching, is all," he said, his eyes glinting mischievously. "He turns red and all hoity-toity, it's hilarious." Rose now looked a lot more irritated. He inwardly congratulated himself at his flawless evasive maneuver.

"You guys are always antagonising him," she said with a huff as she aggressively licked her spoon. "But he didn't come today," she added in reference to his earlier question. Then she stopped, as if unsure how to proceed, which made James wonder if he'd begun rejoicing too soon.

Finally she sighed. "He figured it was more of a family thing this time," she said, her mouth turning up into a grimace as he immediately frowned. Damn it. He _had_ been too soon. She went on, very much aware of his unhappy expression that he didn't really bother hiding. "He didn't want to intrude."

There was a moment of silence. James hated moments of silences. "Oh," he said, which he felt was an acceptable response. His toes curled in the grass. "That was nice of him, I guess."

"Yeah," she agreed wearily. "Nice." Shifting in place, she turned herself around and leaned her head against his knees, her hair looking bright against the dull black of his jeans. She looked up at him cautiously. Eggshells again. "Aunt Ginny mentioned you're looking for a hideout. Those letters are getting real nasty, aren't they?"

Now really.

Did she have to talk about the letters?

Everyone was talking about the letters.

Hate mail shouldn't be such a big deal. They had Harry Potter and Hermione Granger-Weasley in the family. His dad had literally been 'Undesirable No. 1' for an entire year before they began lauding him as their saviour again.

He'd gotten hate mail before. Granted, it was only like ten per cent of a veritable mountain of love and praise, but it'd been there. He wasn't a stranger to it all.

He took a moment to remember the assortment of responses he'd observed in his owl-lot earlier this morning.

A whole bunch of angry assholery calling him a disgrace to his father's name (a lot of the real insane ones actually came with these horrid little hexes that made him want to squeal)… a few telling him that "the Prophet was bullshit and they honestly didn't believe a single thing, so he shouldn't worry, really," which made him feel very shitty because this time they were actually right… some from his fans expressing their disappointment in his actions, which made him feel even shittier, thanks… and some from the more rabid fangirls of the… younger demographic that were basically throwing themselves at him with the hopes that 'hey, he'd gotten with one kid, he just might get with another', complete with a healthy set of pictures with their specked faces and their underdeveloped, nude bodies attached, now those were nasty.

He could go a few lifetimes without seeing one of those. He could see why there was still a mob outside his apartment. He obviously wasn't going home anytime soon.

"Scorpius said he wouldn't mind if crashed over at our place for a while," Rose said, interrupting his train of thought. He snapped out of his internal rant to focus on her face, which unfortunately still looked wary. "We've got an extra bedroom… we've been using it as a store but it wouldn't be hard to clean up."

James held back a sigh. Another Weasley offering him shelter. He was grateful, of course. He just wasn't all that fond of the idea of staying with couples... he'd already denied Al, and even Teddy when he'd offered half an hour ago. "Thanks, Rosie, but…"

"Yeah, yeah, you don't want to hear us getting it on all through the night," she said, rolling her eyes. He couldn't help but grin at her bluntness, even as he felt slightly nauseated at the image. "I'm just saying it's on the table, Jimmy. Just in case you need it."

"I'll keep it in mind," he said. His grin turned into a smile. "But don't worry, Red. I can handle it."

"Sure," she snorted, unfazed by his use of her childhood nickname. She quickly inhaled the last bits of her dessert before pushing herself to her feet. After stretching her limbs for a short second, she looked down at him with a raised eyebrow. "Dom, Roxy and I are playing a few rounds of Bullshit back in the Burrow. Wanna come?"

"With the exploding cards?" he asked, tilting his head in thought. Rose nodded. He considered it. "I dunno, maybe."

"Come if you want," she said with a shrug, before suddenly reaching up and smacking him across the head. James jerked to the side and stared, a hand reaching up to rub the affected area. "The hell was that for?"

"From Lily and Hugo," she said with another shrug, but her lips twitched up into a smile. "The school's apparently desperate for gossip and they're a direct link to you. That girl of yours hasn't made it any better with her gloating. They're trying to rein her in but she's a bit of a nuisance. You must've been real drunk to have gotten with _that_."

And then she ambled away without so much as a parting glance, leaving James to gape at her retreating back, his mind a great mess.

A few moments passed and he became conscious of the thing welling inside his chest.

Ah. There it was. The guilt.

Lily was never going to forgive him.

"Oh look, James, you haven't had any of the beans! Here, let me—"

And Gran dumped a hulking ladle of beans on top of his roast beef without so much as a by-your-leave before cheerfully bustling onward to manhandle the others into doubling their meals. He closed his mouth with an audible 'click' and stared at his plate in dismay, his guilt momentarily forgotten.

It was ridiculous. She'd been sympathy-feeding him all afternoon. He was going to bloat up and explode if he managed to finish even half of the teetering pile on his plate. The woman was insane.

Then a saviour appeared.

"Need some help with that?" his Uncle Ron asked as he sat down onto the bench next to him, his eyes glimmering with amusement. There was a bottle of Butterbeer in his hand, which clinked as he set it down beside him. Gratefulness overcame James as he quickly shoveled at least half of his servings onto his Uncle's spotless plate. You could always trust Uncle Ron to come save your ass when your troubles involved food.

"Uncle Ron!" Freddie snickered as he walked past, patting his bulging tummy with a satisfied sigh. "You're not supposed to be helping him!"

James gave him a ferocious glare. "You eat all you like, Uncle Ron," he insisted as he continued to shoot daggers at the unaffected Fred, who had quickly been absorbed into a conversation with his cousin Molly and her boyfriend… what's-his-name, Kit? "Growing man like you, you need all the nourishment you can get. Go on, have some more."

Uncle Ron snorted, almost choking on some half-eaten beef. A moment passed before he gestured awkwardly, the tips of his ears turning a little red. "I meant to apologise about my squalling earlier," he said as he gave James an uncomfortable look. "You know me and Quidditch. I was a mite out of line."

"Uncle Ron, you ordered me to go to the IQA headquarters and grovel in front of the entire team," James said dryly as he forced himself to eat another bite.

"Yes, well—" he cleared his throat, ears now completely red. "Don't do that."

"Wow, thanks, Uncle Ron." His voice managed to turn even drier. "Great advice, that."

There was a moment of silence. Then his uncle laughed. "You're a lot like your dad, you know?" he said, his eyes hazing slightly as if remembering something from a long time ago. "Sarcastic twats, the lot of you."

Now this made James smile.

He'd been compared to his Dad his entire life—it was hard to avoid it really, considering his father's fame and the fact that he was the eldest child, but he'd learnt to take it positively over the years. His Dad always had been his biggest idol—highlighting a similarity was always the highest compliment, even when it came to meaningless observations.

"He sent me here to check on you," the man said casually as he continued to eat, now about halfway through his mountain. "You haven't moved from this bench in over twenty minutes. The only time you've talked to anybody is when they came to you. He's worried."

"Oh." James bit his lip, debating on how to respond. "I'm fine."

"Sure you are," his uncle agreed. "You're spiffing. Butterbeer?" he offered his bottle.

James accepted it and took a swig. Warmth rolled down the length of his body and he involuntarily smiled. "I really am, you know," he said as he helped himself to another sip before passing it back to his disbelieving uncle. "At least I was when I came here. Having to go through the same emotional conversation with every aunt, uncle and cousin hasn't exactly been a thrilling experience." This last bit was pointed.

Uncle Ron's mouth twitched up into a smirk. "I suppose it wouldn't," he agreed, eating some more. He'd now managed to demolish a little more than half of his little mountain. James was impressed. "But it's only because we're worried, you know."

He knew. He sighed. "I do, it's just…"

"It's just you don't want to keep being reminded of it," the redhead said knowingly, leaving him surprised. "Don't give me that look. Contrary to popular belief, I am not _always_ an oblivious git."

James found that very hard to believe. According to his Aunt Hermione, Ron hadn't acquired that much of an emotional compass in his transition to adulthood. She kept muttering on about teaspoons or some such whenever the subject was brought up and her husband would always turn red at the ears. He gave him a skeptical look.

A second or two passed. Then his uncle sighed. "Alright, alright. Your mum told me it was likely that's what ticked you off. Merlin, it's like nobody has any faith in me these days."

James laughed.

"But she's got you figured, doesn't she?" he said, now unnecessarily smug. "Scarily like Mum, she is. Don't know how that happened."

There was a moment of silence as he figured out how to respond.

"It's just a little tiring, to feel guilty about it all the time," James said finally as he stared at his food. There was still too much left. He tried to eat some more. "And I thought maybe I could forget it for a while, you know? After I met with Coach Spinnet?"

"We probably shouldn't have sprung it on you so soon, maybe," his uncle said thoughtfully. "In fact, your Mum tried to postpone it to Sunday but we insisted because we wanted to see you, mate. After all, you _are_ family. We didn't mean to overwhelm you but we had to see for ourselves that you were doing alright."

James debated, silent. His uncle sighed and then slapped him on the back. "Think about it this way—now that you've got it out of the way, you don't have to worry about it later. Now stop moping and have some treacle tart. It'll make you feel better."

 _Thanks, Uncle Ron._ James wondered how he was supposed to digest that.

But Uncle Ron evidently wasn't going to wait around for a response. He gestured to his plate, and James was stunned to see it had been wiped clean. His uncle was a bottomless pit. "That's me done," he said as he stood up and took another swig of his Butterbeer. "I'm going to go see what George's up to now. He's managed to smuggle something in under Angie's nose, I just know it." He peered down at James, who was still surprised that he'd actually been given some good advice. "Go get that tart, mate," he said wisely before walking away with a whistle.

Of course his parting statement would be about food.

James rolled his eyes and stood up. Treacle tart sounded good.

"Finally quit your brooding, eh?" Al greeted him as he approached him by the dessert side, which was awe-inspiring in its variety. Peach cobbler, pudding, treacle tart and that fruit and cream thing Rosie had been slurping earlier, which was probably Aunt Audrey's doing. The woman loved her fruits.

"Oh piss off," he mumbled. "I had a good reason to brood." Al laughed, his green eyes twinkling with good humour. "How's the tart?"

"Delicious," he replied as he spooned up a mouthful of the same. "But it's Gran, so it's hardly surprising." James had to agree.

"Mate, I checked out that bird you shagged," Freddie suddenly interrupted as he popped up from behind him, his red hair a wavy mess. He abruptly reached out with a finger and escaped with a nice bit of James's vanilla ice cream making him squawk with righteous indignation. "Snuck in through one of the passageways to see what the big deal was about." He gave him a disapproving look. "Jimmy, mate… she's a real lunatic. Only things she talks about are your _hands._ Don't see the appeal, to be honest. They're all rough and spindly."

"Don't remind me of that girl," James said, expertly ignoring his cousin's observations about his Quaffle-worn hands. Hadn't that official letter reached her yet? "I must've been _real_ drunk."

"Now don't be mean," Victoire chided as she joined the discussion, a green-haired Teddy in tow. "She snagged a Quidditch star, didn't she? Must have _something_ going for her in that vapid brain of hers."

"Desperation?" Teddy suggested. He continued with a grin. "It didn't hurt that you were apparently drowning in liquor, I suppose. Probably blurred her a bit. Made her seem pretty or something. Quite certain you have standards otherwise, mate. I mean, I'm just assuming. _Do_ you have standards?"

"I have standards," James argued. He took a bite of his treacle tart. "I have very high standards."

"What a blatant lie," Lucy claimed as she also came up for a second round of dessert. "With that track record of yours? Your requirements stop at 'must be a girl'."

"No," James denied it. "She must also be pretty. I can't exactly shag her if I don't find her attractive, can I? You know," he gestured vaguely to his lower body and gave them a lewd wink. " _Physically_ and all that."

"Ew, stop it James," Victoire said as she reached up to flick him on his forehead, her wedding ring glinting in the sun. He dodged her easily. "You're such a whore."

Now wait just a moment.

"I am not a whore," James cried indignantly.

"You're a little bit of a whore," Al told him gently.

"I am _not!"_

"Just a little," Freddie said with a grin. "It's not a bad thing. You need a pretty face to be a whore, don't you? Being pretty is supposed to be a good thing. Certainly helps with the ratings. Just you watch, Jimmy, they'll be back to loving you in no time."

"But I'm not _pretty!_ " James protested, now thoroughly offended. "I'm _handsome_. There's a difference!"

"Sure you are," Teddy said sympathetically. His eyes were laughing. "A real knockout."

"Oh, fuck you," James scowled.

"Language!"

"Sorry, Aunt Hermione," he said meekly as all his cousins laughed. He glared at them. "Stop laughing!"

"Any of that cobbler left?" another voice interjected and Molly was suddenly there with a grin, her boyfriend… surprisingly nowhere in sight. "I've been craving seconds."

"Just a little bit," Lucy said as she held her hand out for the plate. Molly handed it over and looked around at everybody, her eyes alight with curiosity. "So what were you talking about?"

A beat of silence.

"James's inability to keep from being a whore," Freddie offered and had to dance out of the way when James threw him a punch. Their laughter returned.

"The talk of the town," Molly said with a knowing grin. Her blue eyes twinkled. "How're those lovely fans of yours? Still haranguing you for some dirty deflowering?"

Mother of Merlin. "Molly!" he gasped, very much caught off-guard as their laughter increased. "You too?"

"What?" she asked apparently unbothered. Lucy handed her the refilled plate which she accepted with a nod of thanks. "I do have a sense of humor, contrary to popular belief."

"She's got a point too," Freddie agreed with a snicker. "Those are some horny seven-year-olds."

"Aw come on, that's not fair," James argued weakly. "It's minimum thirteen, at the very least."

They began cackling.

"Where's Kurt though?" Lucy said finally when their laughter had ebbed. So _that_ was his name. "You're usually joined at the hip, aren't you?"

"He's talking to Dad," Molly shrugged unfazed. "Something about ministerial policies on private plant-breeding. Not very interesting." She paused for a second. "Though I probably should be worried. It doesn't sound good for the apartment, does it?"

The amusement returned. "There should be other signs," Vic said as she leaned into Teddy, whose hand automatically lifted to wrap around her waist. "Has he started hoarding the cages and the dragon dung?"

Molly snorted. "You're talking about Professor Sprout's apprentice," she said with a roll of her eyes. "Now that Lee's shifted out, he's got an entire room to keep his dung."

James raised an eyebrow at the unfamiliar name, but nobody else seemed to blink an eye. "It's the same way with Teddy," Victoire agreed with an eye-roll of her own. "He won't stop hoarding those toys of his, it's ridiculous."

"They're not toys," Teddy protested. "They're mechanical tools, there's a difference." His wife shot him an unimpressed look, and James began to smirk as he recalled Teddy's dreams of becoming a mechanic.

"How's that project of yours anyway?" He asked a touch wickedly. "On a mission to build a bike, aren't you? Getting anywhere with that?"

"It's proceeding well," Teddy said with a dignified look even as Victoire began to bend over with laughter. "I seem to have figured out which tool's used where, at the very least."

"You should've seen him!" Victoire hooted as they all looked on with entertained expressions. "The guy was trying to tighten a screw with a hacksaw for at least an hour!"

"It was only half an hour," Teddy tried to debate but he was drowned out in the fit of resultant giggles. "And I got it right in the end, didn't I?"

"Sure you did," Victoire said consolingly as she gave them an obvious wink. "I know you'll get there, honey. I believe in you."

"Oh, piss off," he sighed as his hair turned blue. "I'm pants at it… but at least I'm a decent Auror."

"There's always that," Al agreed. "For an old-timer, anyway."

Teddy gasped. "I'm twenty-six! That's barely anything!"

"Let's face it, Ted, you're an old coot," Lucy stated with a shake of her head. "Why, tomorrow you'll probably be going around drooling and forgetting names and recalling events from 'back in your day' and boring everybody to tears with your old-person-advice."

"And the day after that, you'll probably be dead," Freddie added blithely as Teddy's ears turned a beautiful red. It wasn't a blush either. They turned a proper red. "Or confined to a wheelchair, at the very least, and screaming at the kids on the streets to 'clear off and be nuisances somewhere else, the little shits that they are'." His voice adjusted accordingly to imitate that of an assumable old-man-Lupin.

Teddy looked on offended as the rest of them fell back into their laughter.

"Victoire?" he asked for support considering she was only a year younger than him and what not but was disappointed to find none. The blonde was busy leaning on James because she was too weak to stand on her own with all the heavy snickering. Teddy was left to stare in helpless indignation as all his cousins began to pipe in with their own impressions of 'old-man-Lupin'.

" _Kids,_ " Lucy croaked.

" _Get off me lawn!"_ Molly squalled, squinting as if peering through a pair of particularly thick spectacles.

" _!"_ Freddie decided to forgo any words and simply began to screech like a dying animal.

"Oh my god," Victoire gasped as every inch of Teddy's skin turned a beautiful shade of pink. "Holy shit."

James was feeling good. And relieved. Now this was normal. Not a hint of that eggshell bullshit. There was a pleasant lull in conversation as their laughter began to fade into grins. Even Teddy's lips had twitched up with amusement.

"So how is Lee, anyway?" Al asked Molly after a few moments of quiet. James's eyebrows furrowed again as Al's lips pulled up into a smirk. "Last I saw, she was going around disproving laws?"

Disproving laws…? "Lee, who's that?" Freddie asked, and James felt thankful that she had. The only Lee he knew was Uncle George's friend Lee Jordan, and he hadn't disproved any laws. "I've heard the name."

"Eleanor, she's a very good friend of mine," Molly explained absentmindedly over a bite of peach cobbler. "She used to be with me in Ravenclaw."

James couldn't quite recall this person. An image came to mind—that of a skinny Fourth-Year Molly Weasley and a pint-sized brown-haired girl sitting next to her with a mountain of books by her side. But nothing else.

"There were rumours in the department that the Unspeakables were looking to snatch up a sprog," Al recalled with a grin. "It's her, isn't it?"

"Isn't their recruitment process supposed to be confidential?" Victoire asked curiously. James tried to follow the conversation, but it was hard considering he hardly knew squat. "How'd you hear about something like this anyway?"

"News like this travels," Teddy explained as he eyed Molly to see if she'd confirm it. The redhead looked amused. "The Department of Mysteries is ridiculously secretive about most things, but everybody knows that they hardly ever hire anybody younger than twenty-one unless they're _really_ that good… and when that happens, the entire Ministry usually ends up knowing about it."

"I've been sworn not to say anything about it," Molly said with a shrug, but her eyes were twinkling.

"So that's a yes," Lucy shook her head with an impressed smile. James was now incredibly curious about this faceless girl. "Of course it is. Who else would it be?"

"She's been in a state of shock ever since she got the letter," Molly recounted with a fond smile. "Which is admittedly refreshing considering her problems with finding a flat—" She stopped very abruptly. Her eyebrows furrowed.

There was a moment of silence.

"What is it?" Vic asked, a little concerned. Lucy's hand reached up to touch upon her shoulder, and Molly started. "Nothing, it's just…" she trailed off before looking up, and her eyes strangely made contact with James's.

"…what is it?" James asked, a little uncomfortable.

"Flat issues," she muttered almost incoherently as her hand reached up to tug at the ends of her flaming hair. Then bizarrely, her lips spread into an ecstatic smile. He suddenly felt a bit apprehensive. "̛Sweet Merlin, it's _perfect_!"

What was she talking about?

"What are you talking about?" he asked with a raise of his eyebrows.

Most of his cousins were equally bewildered. "You're not making any sense, Molly," Freddie agreed. "That's not normal of you."

"Are you okay, Mol?" Victoire asked again, her forehead displaying a small frown.

Then out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lucy's expression suddenly transitioning into one of understanding, which he felt was a bit unfair. _He'd_ like some understanding.

Molly continued to stare at him with that ridiculous grin of hers that made him itch.

"Molly?" James said warily. "Stop smiling."

A small pause.

"But I can help you!" she erupted excitedly, her smile widening in direct defiance of his orders. "It's absolutely perfect! _Kurt!_ " James resisted the urge to flinch at the loudness of her tone.

"Care to explain, perhaps?" Teddy asked her flatly as she continued to flit her gaze about the lawn in search for her elusive boyfriend. "What do you mean, you can help him?"

" _Kurt!_ " she repeated _way_ too loudly and James really did feel the need to plug his ears. The adults eyed the group before apparently deciding to stay out of it, whatever it was. "I found it!"

"What are you _talking_ about?" Victoire demanded as they stared at the bouncing redhead. "What did you find?"

"Why are you yelling?" the aforementioned Kurt suddenly poked his head out of the door. He looked back into the room and said something before quickly approaching them. "I thought I already promised to put away the Fanged Germaniums?" The last part was said with a little bitterness, which gave James the bizarre urge to laugh.

"Oh, toss the germaniums!" Molly exclaimed as she very weirdly reached up to wrap her fingers around James's neck. With a forceful tug she brought him down to put great emphasis on his face and almost dislocated his head from the rest of his body in the process. "I found it, I say!"

"Found _what?"_ James cried, very irritated at being manhandled as such. He glared at Kurt even though the poor guy looked like he had no idea what was going on. His cousins had similar expressions. "What is she _talking_ about?"

"Mate, I have no idea," Kurt admitted. He looked back to the door in as if wondering if it was safer to retreat before returning his gaze to the odd bunch. "Mol, let the guy go, would you? You'll give him a bruise."

"It makes so much sense though!" Molly exclaimed as she let go of James's neck, apparently unmindful of the fact that he'd immediately scuttled back in a great deal of alarm. "Don't you see it?"

Damn it, Molly, see _what?_

"Molly!" Teddy finally barked, his hair now a very bright purple indicative of his confusion and frustration. "Calm down and tell us what you're talking about!"

"Don't tell me to calm down," she scowled at the irate Lupin before returning her gaze to James, who ruthlessly stifled the urge to run away. Teddy muttered incoherently but nobody paid any attention to him, they were all too curious about what the hell this crazy redhead was talking about. "Eleanor!" she cried abruptly and James felt it almost like a poke in the shoulder. "Damn it, she just bought a flat in Dogwood Ave! Don't you see?"

Here she paused and looked at him meaningfully. James was absolutely clueless.

Molly rolled her eyes "Come on!" she said with an obvious look even though nobody understood except for Lucy, who was now looking at James to observe his reaction. (Merlin knows what _she_ expected to see.)

Then Molly continued. "She's looking for a flatmate! Didn't you say you needed a place to stay? It's perfect!"

A beat of silence.

James promptly stopped thinking. Then suddenly, the noise level reached an incredible extreme as they descended into stunned exclamations.

"Are you serious?" Al demanded as his eyebrows shot up into his hair. "You're not kidding?"

"That's one hell of a coincidence," Freddie observed in astonishment.

"Molly, wait a second—" Kurt began warily but Molly was on a roll.

"It's the perfect location, too, smack in the middle of London and everything. She's already done most of the furnishing. There might be a few things to clear up in the beginning with your jobs and all, but I'm sure it'll work out!"

"Molly—"

"She's real lovely, too—one of the best people I've ever known, and she's wicked smart to boot. You'll settle in no time, I'm sure. Isn't it just weird how it happened? You'll love it I swear."

"Molly—"

"You don't mind staying in Muggle London though, do you? It's probably for the best though, considering you'll want to avoid the Wizarding parts. She's planning on warding the place though, so there shouldn't be much of a problem with doing magic—"

" _Molly_ ," Kurt said sharply and this time Molly fell silent, giving him an excited look. James felt very out-of-sorts. Where had this even _come_ from?

"Hon, you haven't even checked with Lee yet," Kurt muttered quietly into her ear, but the rest of them could hear well enough. "She might not even be fine with this."

There was a lull as everybody considered this new thought.

"I'm sure she won't mind," Molly said weakly as she realized that she'd probably gotten way too ahead of herself in the excitement. "She mentioned putting up an ad. Wouldn't it be better for her to share with a familiar face anyway?"

"Not much of a familiar face," James mumbled as his mind slowly began to recover. Much as he tried to appear neutral, his eyes started filling with hope despite himself. What were the chances? It had fallen right into his lap. There was _no_ way he'd find a place soon enough otherwise. "I've no idea who she is."

"She's a good sort," Al said, still sounding befuddled. "Doesn't take a lot of shit."

"Sounds like it," Victoire agreed.

"Now wait just a moment," Lucy interrupted firmly and Kurt gave her a thankful look. "Molly, you have to _talk_ to Lee. See what she thinks. Much as I hate to say it," she grimaced as she directed her gaze towards James, who blinked. "There's a lot of attention on you at the moment, Jimmy. There's no telling what the Prophet would do if they got wind of the arrangement. She'd be wise in avoiding the mess as a whole."

Ouch. James mulled it over inside his head.

"That's true, I suppose," he said, a little disappointed despite himself. Molly now looked very regretful.

"I shouldn't have brought it up like this," she said, tugging on the ends of her hair. Her blue eyes were apologetic and she looked to be on the verge of a conniption. "It just struck me rather suddenly and—"

"It's okay, hon," Kurt said gently as he tugged her into his side. She wrapped her arms around his waist and burrowed her face into his chest. "Like you said, she probably wouldn't mind." She didn't look any less affected.

Lucy bit her lip as she regarded her younger sister's distress and for a few moments, nobody said anything.

Then Lucy opened her mouth. "Molly?" she asked hesitantly. "She's home isn't she?" And Molly peeked out to give her a slow nod.

She bit her lip again before steeling herself. "Why don't you go over and ask her right now?"

Molly dropped her jaw and then hurriedly closed it again. James couldn't handle his brain anymore because the situation was too convenient and too ridiculous. "That's a good idea," she mumbled, her head tilting as she considered this new solution.

"Yes, I'll just… go—"she awkwardly extricated herself from the worried Kurt and made as if to Apparate before stopping. "No wait, I need a bribe—" she hurriedly grabbed a bowl and filled it with peach cobbler. "She loves this, she won't say no with this to distract her…" She looked at them all with a helpless expression. "I'll be back before dinner." And then she twisted her foot and disappeared.

Some more silence.

As one, his brother and cousins turned to regard James with bemused eyes. "So…" Al trailed off as James tried to figure out exactly how he felt about this new situation. "This is… good?"

"Of course it is," Lucy said breezily but even he could see the uncertainty in her eyes. "This is great news."

A small pause.

"At the very least, it should be entertaining," she mumbled as an afterthought.

He suddenly began to rethink his decision.

...wait a moment, had he even made one?

* * *

 _October 25, 2024—Eleanor_

"Molly?" I asked calmly.

"Yes?" she said, hiding behind her hair.

" _What were you thinking?"_

"I don't know!" she cried. "It was a good idea when I first thought it!"

"Do you know what this will do?" I asked her with pursed lips. "This will put me in the _spotlight_ , is what it'll do! You think I like the spotlight? No sir, I do not!"

"I know!" she cried again. "But we can keep it a secret, I swear!"

"Oh please," I snorted. "With how big your family is? Word is bound to get out _sometime_. And no _way_ do I want to be hunted down by an army of twelve-year-olds because I went ahead and 'stole their man'!"

"That won't happen!" Molly argued.

"Yes it will!"

"Okay maybe it will," she relented. Her hands reached up to tug on her hair again—an obvious sign of her distress that I was determined to ignore. "But I'm sure we could handle it!"

"Oh my god, Molly," I rolled my eyes as I walked into the kitchenette to make myself a cup of calming… chamomile or whatever. "Do you want tea?" I said waspishly because I was a polite little miss no matter how mad I was at this silly redhead.

"I wouldn't mind some," she said weakly. I put the kettle to boil and watched as she reluctantly separated herself from the cushion (the one with the stain!) to drag herself over to the kitchen counter. With a tiny grunt, she boosted herself up and folded her legs to rest her chin on her knees. Her blue eyes timidly looked over to meet mine. I glared.

"How'd you even think I could handle a mess like this, Mol?" I asked her in that same waspish tone as I moved a hand to rub my wrist. "There's a reason I avoid your family!"

At this, Molly was momentarily in awe. "You've never actually admitted to that before," she said with a wondering tone. "You usually make silly excuses and hurry out of the room."

"That's not the point!" I said but my cheeks flushed in embarrassment. "This is my bubble, see?" I gestured with my hands to show her metaphorical bubble around me. My voice took on an accusing tone. "And you're poking it with a stick! A stick named James Potter that comes with a shit ton of negative attention! Can _you_ handle him having sex every single day in the next bedroom?" I almost shrieked this one before clearing my throat and composing myself. "Not that he actually will, I suppose. I don't know him. Only shit _I_ know comes from you and the papers." Again, my voice took on a pointed edge.

"Aw come on!" Molly exclaimed. Her finger rose to point at me in protest. "That's hardly valid! You were going to put up an ad in the papers, weren't you? You weren't going to know _anybody_. At least you've got me here vouching for him, don't you? Technically, it's a much better situation—what if you got a rapist, hm?" she raised her eyebrow in triumphant emphasis. "Or say, some weirdo nose-digging, refusing-to-clean-the-hair-from-the-bathroom-drain, reluctant-to-pay-their-share-of-the-rent creeper from some corner of Knockturn Alley?"

My nose wrinkled at the description. "Ew, Molly," I said, unwilling to concede the point. "I have a better read on people than that."

"Fine, okay," she agreed because I really did, I was considered smart for a reason. This didn't mean she had relented though. Her voice got higher. "But you asked me to look didn't you? Because you trust my judgment?"

There was a quiet moment.

"Perhaps," I said reluctantly. "But that doesn't mean you up and dump a defamed Quidditch star onto my doorstep without so much as a by-your leave, Molly. Anybody else and I wouldn't be this hesitant. But don't you see why I object to this?"

She paused and debated how to respond. I occupied myself by picking at my nails and taking care not to meet her eyes—a part of me felt uncomfortable considering I'd just insulted her cousin but I felt justified. I wasn't making a decision about ice cream flavours, after all.

Finally, she sighed.

"Lee," she bit her lip and absentmindedly pointed to the kettle which had begun to boil. I waved my wand and the kettle began pouring water into the two cups I'd set onto the countertop, but quickly shifted my attention to her expression. It had a hint of helplessness, which I felt a little guilty about.

"James is a really good guy," she continued in a quiet voice. "I promise you, I wouldn't have even mentioned it if I thought it wouldn't work." At this I raised a skeptical eyebrow, but she insisted. "I really wouldn't. You think I would've gotten so excited if I didn't genuinely think it'd work out? I'm not an idiot, Lee. I have better sense than that."

The container of sugar floated over and began to deposit appropriate amounts into the two awaiting cups. Molly liked three spoons, I remembered as it adjusted accordingly. Ew.

I continued to stare into Molly's eyes. They were blue and beseeching. "They're waiting, aren't they?" I said perceptively.

Her lips twitched up into a sheepish smile. "Maybe."

A long moment passed as I considered it. Then I sighed.

"You're a bleeding twit, Molly," I told her as the tea finished preparing itself. Quick to break eye contact, I went over and picked up the cups before offering one to the redhead, who suddenly looked a little helpful.

"Are you considering it?" she asked shrewdly. I shook my head stubbornly and lied. "Nope."

She gasped. "You _are_!" An awed expression spread across her face. "I didn't think I'd actually get that far."

…perhaps I could allow her that.

"It's the peach cobbler," I said in remembrance and immediately waved my wand again. The container zoomed over into my hand and I popped open the lid to breathe in the yummy smell. "It's the only reason why I'm even considering it a little bit."

"It's too much of a coincidence to ignore, you know," she pointed out, now well aware of the fact that she was wearing me down. "He needs a place to stay, you happen to simultaneously need a flatmate... and you also happen to have me to make the connection and give you _both_ the perfect solution." An elated smile appeared on her lips when she noticed my visible wavering. "You're hesitating! I can't believe it!"

"So you might make a little sense," I allowed, considering it even more. Much as I hated to say it, I felt sorry for the guy. Lot of bad luck over the past two days. "I'm not agreeing to it yet," I felt the need to point out because she was getting way too excited.

There was another long moment. We engaged in a battle of wills.

Then I sighed. Damn those blues.

"I'll meet the guy," I finally conceded, and ruthlessly stifled the urge to smile when she let out a whoop of success. "I'm telling you, I'm making _no_ promises," I firmly insisted and shoved a spoonful of peach cobbler into my mouth when she did a weird victory dance in her seat. It was yummy. "Tomorrow morning," I said as I slotted it firmly into my schedule. I had the meeting with Unspeakable Wilkes at seven 'o' clock—hopefully, we'd have wrapped up by then.

"Tomorrow morning is good," Molly said enthusiastically. She leapt off the counter to give me a crushing hug, which I couldn't help but return. "I've got to tell them! They won't believe you said yes!"

Merlin, these Weasleys.

"You should probably give Potter a fair warning before he agrees to the arrangement, though," I said musingly. My lips pursed and my eyebrows drew together as I remembered my concerns. "If the guy so much as shines a torch in my direction… he'll be unrecognisable when I'm done with him, I swear to God."

"Will do!" she said undeterred. She gave me another hug. "I gotta go. They're still waiting!" And she hurried out of the kitchen to slip on her flats. "This is so exciting, Merlin!" I couldn't help but smile at her delight.

"Love you, Lee!" she called out as she picked up her wand. "I'll pop in later to tell you where to meet him! Oh my god, Kurt was sure you'd never agree—wait till I tell him! He can't even crib about the germaniums now."

Classic Molly. I rolled my eyes and made to take a sip when a half-finished cup of tea caught my eye. "Molly, wait! You haven't—"

 _Crack_.

"—finished your tea. Idiot."

I sighed and ate another spoonful of peach cobbler. It felt strangely silent, with Molly gone.

I picked up my cup of tea and moved back into the living room. The sun was setting outside and had cast a really pretty shadow on my little nook, so I quickly decided to pick up a book and settle down. Setting down the cup, I opened the book, breathed deeply... and then panicked.

I was going to regret this, I just knew it.

Damn those Weasleys.

* * *

 **A/N:**

So I was actually going to have them meet this chapter itself, but it was stretching too long. Does it seem implausible, how it happened? Did she give in too easily? Actually, I'd love to know how you'd have reacted if you were in the same situation. I hope it seems realistic. I'm trying to make them as human as possible.

How do you think their meeting will go? Do they seem like they'll dislike each other on sight? Will they get along?

Wow, I'm so excited to write the next bit. It might be up soon, but no promises.

To Cap92A, Acidpopsandsugarquills, Regenbogenschnoerkel and the two Guests for their reviews. I'm delighted that you enjoy this fiction. It kinda motivates me to keep writing it, you know?

Also, to Guest no. 1: I tried to take your advice for the summary change, but I can't figure out what to put instead. Would you have any particular suggestions? Also, I get what you mean about the switching POV's. I kinda hope to veer into writing from only Eleanor's POV in the future, which is why I write her in first-person. James will still ideally appear, of course—just much lesser.

To everyone who read the chapter: I hope you liked it. Please do tell me what you think. I always love to hear your opinions.

Thank you very much.

Love,  
R.


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